LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.   DONALD   KELLOGG 


SONGS  AND  POEMS 


American  and  Irish 
National  and  International 

Patriotic,  Political 
Economic  and  Miscellaneous 


BY 

EDWARD    FITZWILLIAM 


THE  J.  K.  WATERS  CO., 

14-20  BEACH  STREET 

BOSTON 


COPYRIGHTED,  1906,  BY 
EDWARD  F1TZWILLIAM 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE. 


Unlike  what  in  secret  mysteriously  delves, 

These  poems  need  no  preface  they  speak  for  themselves. 

In  the  construction  of  the  songs  and  poems  contained 
in  this  little  volume,  I  have  endeavored  to  make  my 
meaning  clear  and  unequivocal  and  I  flatter  myself  I 
have  succeeded  in  so  doing. 

Those  poems  in  part  first  treat  on  American  national 
affairs,  those  in  part  second  on  Irish  affairs,  and  under 
the  head  —  Miscellaneous  —  on  various-topics  of  passing, 
as  well  as  permanent  public  interest. 

Without  further  comment  I  submit  them  to  my  friends, 
neighbors  and  the  great  common  people,  hoping  that 
they  may  be  received  in  the  spirit  in  which  they  were 
written  by  the  author 

EDWARD  FITZWILLIAM. 


PUBLISHERS   PREFACE. 


The  poems  and  songs  contained  in  this  volume,  will, 
We  are  convinced,  meet  conditions  now  and  for  the 
last  decade  growing  more  and  more  serious  every  day. 

The  vast  aggregations  of  capital  known  as  trusts,  the 
get  rich  quick  craze,  the  growing  disregard  for  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  and  for  constitutional 
limitations,  have  been  sprung  on  the  people  with  alarm- 
ing frequency  and  unblushing  audacity.  All  of  these 
things  and  many  others  have  been  exposed  and  answered 
more  concisely  and  yet  more  fully  in  these  poems,  we 
think,  than  they  have  been  heretofore.  We  commend 
this  volume  to  our  young  men,  they  will  find  food  for 
thought  in  it  as  well  as  readings,  recitals,  and  songs, 
both  instructive  and  entertaining. 

Mr.  Fitzwilliam's  muse  which  always  seems  to  soar 
along  the  cleanest  lines  of  thought  has  succeeded  in 
producing  poems  and  songs  that  might  be  introduced 
with  profit  in  our  public  schools,  where,  of  late  years, 
old-time  high  public  spirit  and  old-fashioned  yankee 
patriotism  seem  to  be  sadly,  if  not  entirely,  neglected. 


PART  ONE 

VOLUME  I 


VOLUME  II  WILL  BE  PUBLISHED  ABOUT  MAY  i,  1906 


ADRIFT 

^     I      ^  I    ^      >    ^    f       u 

WE  have  drifted  from  the  landmarks  that  through 
many  a  troublous  year  , 

Have  pointed  out  the  safest  course  our  Ship  of  State 

to  steer ; 
Old  charts  have  been  discarded  by  our  Captain  and 

his  Crew, 
A  vast  wide  imperial  prospect  having  opened  to  their 

view. 
Yielding  to   the   low  temptation   held   out   by  the 

"  Motherland," 
Working  out  the  plot  for  empire  in  a  secret  conclave 

planned ; 
Strong,  sound,  deep-rooted  principles  are  rudely  cast 

aside, 
While  Captain,  pilot,   ship  and   crew,  drift   on  the 

imperial  tide. 

Drifting  ?  Yes  we  are  drifting,  read  George  Wash- 
ington's farewell, 

In  which  he  wisely  cautioned  against  what  of  late 
befell ; 

Through  much  bungling  interference  in  the  affairs 
of  foreign  lands, 

Our  Ship  of  State  has  drifted  among  treacherous 
foreign  strands ; 

That  Pro-British  "understanding"  has  borne  bitter 
deadly  fruit, 

Two  murderous  plundering  wars  have  sprung  from 
that  unhallowed  root ; 


4  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

Were  our  rulers  disintangled  as  they  ever  were  before, 
They'd  have  helped  the  Filipinos  and  dared  England 
touch  the  Boer. 

This  would  have  been  high  statesmanship,  consistent, 

upright,  grand, 
It  would  have  shown  the  world,  the  true  greatness  of 

this  land, 
'Twould  have  saved   the   two   Republics   of    South 

Africa  and  then, 
They  could  have  formed  a  new  one  of  brave  Filipino 

men ; 
But,  lust  of  power  and  profit  filled  our  rulers  longing 

eyes, 
They  and   their  friends  were  dazzled  by  the   rich 

Imperial  prize, 
And   so,    the  golden   chance   to   free   these   far-off 

foreign  lands, 
And  make  them  allies  loyally  slipped  through  their 

palsied  hands. 

Drifting?  Well  no  shifting,  would  perhaps  best 
designate 

The  weak  vacillating  policy  adopted  here  of  late, 

Those  who  used  to  prate  the  loudest  of  our  match- 
less Constitution, 

Are  endeavoring  outside  it  to  enforce  the  destitution 

Of  eight  million  trusting  people,  some  eight  thousand 
miles  away, 

Who  had  been  our  faithful  allies  until  Spain  was 
brought  to  bay, 

To  satisfy  the  Coterie,  "who  stand  behind  the 
throne," 

Who'd  parcel  out  the  Phillipines  and  hold  them  as 
their  own. 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  6 

Great  "  Mercantile  advantages,"  —  "  New  Markets  " 

—  and  so  forth, 
And  "An  open  door  in  China,"  of  but  very  doubtful 

worth  : 
Then,  alliance  with  Great  Britain  or  the  Anglo-Saxon 

race, 
(According  to  Joe  Chamberlain)  this    whole  world 

wide  to  face.* 
Here  we   see   the  secret  policy  divulged    by  slow 

degrees, 

In  such  a  halting  way  it  shows  the  plotters  ill  at  ease, 
For  this,  we're  asked  to  sacrifice  the  people's  right 

to  rule, 
And  he  who  dares  object  is  dubbed  a  traitor  or  a  fool. 

Abuse  of  delegated  power  in  every  age  and  clime, 
Has  always  been  the  starting  point  in  every  public 

crime 
To  carry  out  their  programme  our  late  rulers  went 

so  far, 
To  get  bogus  Sovereignty  they  bought  out  a  bloody 

war. 
So,  the  power  we  delegated  has  been  wrested  from 

our  hands, 
And  our  President  is  Emperor  in  buncoed  foreign 

lands, 

Where  all  the  inhumanity  of  England  and  of  Spain, 
With  yankee  ingenuity,  is  reproduced  again. 

*It  will  be  remembered  that  the  change  in  policy  in  favor  of 
holding  on  to  the  Phillipines  occurred  immediately  after  Joe 
Chamberlain's  visit  to  this  country,  in  which  he  claimed  that  the 
re-united  Saxon  race  of  England  and  America,  would  "  rule  the 
world  for  peace,"  etc.  Immediately  afterwards  the  two  most  inex- 
cusable and  unnecessary  wars,  of  all  time,  were  waged  against  the 
virtuous  God-fearing  Boers,  by  England,  and  against  our  would-be 
allies  and  friends  the  Filipinos  by  the  Armies  and  Navy  of  Uncle 
Sam ;  to  open  new  markets  for  the  trusts,  and  with  England  to 
rule  (and  rob)  the  world  ! 


6  SONGS  AND  POEMS 

Drifting  ?   Yes  we  are  drifting,  five  and  twenty  years 

ago, 
Had  Spain  offered  us  the  Phillipines  without  a  word 

or  blow, 
Not  a  hundred  in  their  senses  could  be  found  in  this 

broad  land, 
To  thank  her  for  the  gift,  or  to  accept  them  from  her 

hand. 
But  since  then,  the  vast  resources  of   the  country 

have  been  wrought, 
By  new,  wonderful  inventions  —  the  vast  profits  have 

been  caught, 

In  legislative  channels,  forming  reservoirs  of  wealth, 
And  now,  they  want  large  armies  to  safeguard  this 

legal  stealth. 

Republican  simplicity  is  flying  or  has  fled 
And  upstart  aristocracy  is  coming  in  its  stead ; 
And  although  we  are  surely  drifting  back  towards 
monarchy  again, 

What  is  everybody's  business,  gives  scarce  anybody 

pain. 
Behold    how    New    rich    Moneybags    bestows   his 

daughter's  hand 
On  some  bankrupt  titled  profligate,  in  some   Mon- 

archial  land  ; 
Would  not  he  who  for  a  title  sends  his  daughter  thus 

to  roam, 
Give  up  millions  for  a  title,  could  he  buy  one  here  at 

home  ? 

In   recent   legislation,   laws   are   framed   with  such 

deceit, 

Almost  every  new  invention  against  laborers  compete, 
They  should  shorten  hours  of  labor,  every  patent  is, 

instead, 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  7 

Used  to  "  cut "  the  roll  of  laborers  who  toil  for  daily 

bread. 
Thus,  the  channels  are  growing  wider  far,  and  deeper 

every  day, 
Into  which  the  people's  wealth  is  flowing  freely  — 

filched  away, 
Thus,  the  rich  are  growing  richer  and  the  poor  more 

numerous  still, 
Then  we  throw  the  blame  upon  the  Lord  by  saying 

"  its  God's  will." 

I   worked  hard  for  fair  protection,  I  talked  for  it 

night  and  day  ; 
With  it  was  promised  shorter  hours  without  the  loss 

of  pay, 
For,    modern   machinery,   when   run   full  time  and 

speed, 
Will  turn  out  more  goods,  than  people  over  worked 

can  need. 
But,  our  rulers  changed  their  principles  and  seek  in 

foreign  lands, 
New  markets  for  the  surplus  that  is  growing  on  their 

hands ; 
So  the  trusts  get  full  protection,  we  poor  workers 

cold  neglect, 
We  are  being  buncoed  by  our  rulers,  such  protection 

don't  protect. 

To   obtain   these   foreign  markets  we   must  be  "a 

world  power," 
With  a  great  big  standing  army,  and  a  navy  vast  to 

shower 
Hot  shot  and  shell  wherever  our  cheap  goods  dare  be 

refused, 
Or  where,  perhaps,  some  missionaries  think  they  are 

being  abused. 


These  preach  conflicting   religions  from   one  most 

sacred  book, 

Yet,  if  bewildered  heathens  cast  a  disapproving  look, 
They're  up  in  indignation  and  call  loudly  out  for  aid 
To  shoot  in  Christianity,  where  they  a  failure  made. 

Oh !  sweet  "  consistency  thou  art  a  jewel "  shining 

bright ; 

When  shall  we  firmly  travel  in  thy  even  steady  light, 
When  shall  we  put  in  practice  that  rule  from  God  on 

high, 

"  Do  you  unto  your  brethren  as  ye  would  be  done  by." 
We  then  while  closing  up  our  doors  against  all 

foreign  lands, 
Will  not  blow  open  theirs  and  have  their  blood  upon 

our  hands, 
Instead,  we'll  hold  aloft  the   torch  of  liberty  once 

more, 
A  beacon  light  to  all  oppressed  this  whole  wide  world 

o'er. 

Oh  !  Lord  who  rules  the  universe  to  Thee  we  humbly 

pray, 
That  Thou  wilt  guide  and  guard  our  land  as  Thou 

hast  done  alway ; 
In  every  crisis  here-to-fore  Thou  hast  sent  a  master 

hand, 
To  shape  the  course  and  safely  guide,  this,  Thy  most 

favored  land. 
Thou  hast  given  us  the  greatest  gifts  ever  deigned  to 

man  below, 

Though  we  have  sinned  forgive  us  Lord  !     Thy  mer- 
cies still  bestow  ! 
We  thank  and  praise  Thee   for   the  gifts  to  us  so 

freely  given, 
And  pray,  "  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  done 

in  Heaven." 


HOW   MUCH   IS   THERE   IN   IT 
FOR   ME? 


OF  late  years,  since  some  try  their  pockets  to  fill  — 
Disregarding  the  general  good  ; 
There  is  an  expression  applied  with  much  skill, 

That  in  former  times  few  understood. 
Honest  measures  and  men 

Were  alone  thought  of  then  ; 
But  on  all  hands  what  now  do  we  see  ? 

In  the  scramble  for  pelf, 
Every  man  asks  himself  : 

"  How  much  is  there  in  it  for  me  ?  " 

You'll  hear  loud  declaiming  'gainst  trusts  and  com- 
bines, 

By  candidates  seeking  for  aid. 
They  tell  those  who  toil  in  the  shops  and  the  mines, 

That  in  ruins  all  trusts  should  be  laid. 
But  when  once  on  the  hill, 

And  some  trust  wants  a  bill  ; 
How  their  minds  changed  no  mortal  can  see, 

But  they  say  to  the  trust  : 
"  Come  right  down  with  the  dust," 

Or,  "  How  much  is  there  in  it  for  me  ?  " 

In  the  late  war  with  Spain  "for  humanity's  sake," 
The  people  rose  with  one  accord. 


10  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

To  the  service  of  country  our  young  men  did  take, 

As  if  they  were  serving  the  Lord. 
But  all  this  has  been  changed  : 

Many  have  been  estranged, 
For  the  most  unsuspecting  can  see, 

A  low  self-seeking  gang 
Acting  out  the  vile  slang 

Of  "  How  much  is  there  in  it  for  me  ? " 

The  wise  and  great  men  who  made  this  a  free  land 

At  the  price  of  their  blood  and  their  toil, 
Left  the  world  a  model  of  freedom  most  grand, 

On  foundations  deep  in  the  soil. 
But  these  great  men  have  gone, 

Or,  if  still  there  is  one ; 
Pushed  aside  rough  and  rudely  is  he 

By  the  self-seeking  crowd, 

Coarsely,  vulgarly  loud, 

Who  ask  :  "  What  is  there  in  it  for  me  ? " 

One  year  after  another,  again  and  again, 

By  such  methods  and  men  we  are  fooled  ; 
And  until  things  are  run  on  a  loftier  plane, 

We  will  be  by  self-seeking  men  ruled. 
When  we  chose  honest  men  — 

And  not  until  then  — 
This  glorious  land  of  the  free 

Will  prosper  always  — 
None  the  question  need  raise : 

"  How  much  is  there  in  it  fof  me  ? " 


DID  the  Lord  create  this  Earth 
For  the  Trusts  ? 
Did  He  mean  all  that  had  worth 

For  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  He  make  some  men  for  slaves 
To  dig  down  in  pits  and  caves 
To  enrich  the  scheming  knaves 
Of  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  He  make  the  coal  and  oil 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
All  the  products  of  the  soil 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
All  the  butter,  eggs  and  meat 
That  the  people  used  to  eat 
While  yet  wholesome  fresh  and  sweet 

For  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  he  order  tariffs  framed 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
True  protection  foully  shamed 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Every  Trust  built  up  its  own 
As  if  piling  stone  on  stone  — 
All  home  competion  gone 

For  the  Trusts  ? 


12  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Did  He  order  all  improvements 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Did  He  Ban  all  labor  movements 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Every  patented  invention 
Labor  saving  of  intention 
Made  but  laborers'  prevention 

For  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  He  give  electric  science 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Harnessed  up  in  mute  compliance 

To  the  Trusts  ? 
Electricity  and  steam 
Toil  to  lighten  or  redeem 
Are  they  made  a  mocking  dream 

For  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  He  order  all  His  laws 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Did  He  teach  the  Christian  cause 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Did  He  mean  that  once  a  week 
All  should  go  to  church  and  seek, 
Grace  to  make  us  calm  and  rneek 

To  the  Trusts  ? 

Did  He  order  vast  expansions 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
Proud  expensive  lordly  mansions 

For  the  Trusts  ? 

While  the  men  that  pick  and  shovel 
At  the  Trust  Lord's  feet  must  grovel 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  18 

And  herd,  in  a  filthy  hovel 
For  the  Trusts. 

Did  He  frame  our  legislatures 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
The  low  game  of  lobby  traders 

For  the  Trusts  ? 
From  our  President  clear  down 
To  Selectmen  of  the  town 
Did  He  order  favors  shown 

To  the  Trusts  ? 

With  good  reason  we  think  hard 

Of  the  Trusts, 
Yet  we  mustn't  blame  the  Lord, 

For  the  Trusts, 

We  must  blame  those  legislators, 
Venal,  purchasable  creatures, 
Who  sold  out  their  manly  natures 

To  the  Trusts. 

They  were  sent  there  by  the  people, 

Not  the  Trusts, 
But  proved  pliant,  plastic,  feeble, 

To  the  Trusts, 

This  great  government  of  laws, 
That  erst-while  met  just  applause, 
They  have  honey-combed  with  flaws, 

For  the  Trusts  ! 

No  !  the  Lord  meant  not  all  these 
For  the  Trusts, 


14  SONGS  AND  POEMS 

Him,  the  actions  do  not  please 

Of  the  Trusts, 
When  the  multitude  awake 
All  these  things  they'll  calmly  take 
For  God  and  His  people's  sake, 

From  the  Trusts  I 


IMPERIALIST    TRAMPLE   ON     THE 
CONSTITUTION 

MM* 

"  The  Constitution  has  made  no  provision  for  holding  foreigh 
territory,  still  less  for  incorporating  foreign  nations  into  our 
Union." 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON  who  ought 
To  know,  the  Constitution, 
Says  it  contains  no  word  or  thought, 

Line,  clause  or  resolution, 
For  grabbing  for-off  foreign  lands, 

Whatever  the  temptation, 
Or  girding  round  with  Union  bands, 
A  conquered  foreign  nation. 

Yet  every  day  we  hear  it  said, 

By  modern,  mushroom  statesmen, 
Who  by  intrigue  got  at  the  head 

And  pose  themselves  as  great-men, 
That  any  man  who  does  not  stand 

"  Behind  the  Administration," 
While  plundering  a  foreign  land, 

Deserves  but  reprobation. 

We  always  thought,  it  was  our  boast, 
From  platform,  tower  and  steeple, 

We  told  the  world  from  coast  to  coast, 
We  were  self-gOAerning  people. 


16  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

But  now  our  rulers  brush  aside 

This  popular  delusion 
And  with  assumed  offended  pride, 

They  scoff  at  our  intrusion. 

Some  sixty  thousand  troops  or  more 

Are  in  a  foreign  nation, 
Forcing,  like  England  on  the  Boer, 

"  Humane  Assimilation," 
*  "  Each  stroke  is  struck  for  liberty, 

Each  shot  is  fired  for  freedom, 
Blows  fall  with  no  severity, 

Except  on  those  who  need  them." 

Some  twenty  thousand  lives  are  spent 

Between  the  dead  and  dying, 
Of  our  young  men  who  there  were  sent ; 

Yet  all  we  hear  is  lying. 
They  tell  us  that  the  war  is  o'er, 

If  so,  our  side  has  blundered, 
Our  gun-boats  shell  them  from  the  shore, 

Our  boys  shoot  many  a  hundred. 


The  day  of  reckoning  is  at  hand, 
When  party  lines  must  sever, 

If  freeman  cannot  rule  this  land, 
Then  freedom  dies  forever. 

If  we  abjectly  stand  and  see 
Our  delighted  power 

* "  No  blow  has  been  struck  but  for  liberty  and  humanity,  and 
none  will  be." 

McKinley  in  his  speech  of  acceptance 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  17 

Abused,  we  are  no  longer  free  ; 

We  are  subjects  from  that  hour. 

We  are  at  the  parting  of  the  ways, 

A  Crisis  is  approaching, 
The  cry  of  treason  while  they  raise, 

They're  all  the  while  encroaching 
On  every  right  we  hold  most  dear, 

On  all  that's  worth  the  keeping. 
Citizens,  awake  and  hear, 

This  is  no  time  for  sleeping  ! 


PAUL   REVERE'S  RIDE 

MM* 

A  MERICAN  children  when  you  hear 
r\    Of  the  "  Midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere," 
As  told  by  Longfellow  ;  at  a  time 
When  American  history  wasn't  a  crime, 

You  may  like  to  ask,  or  may  wish  to  know, 
Upon  what  errand  did  Paul  Revere  go, 
And  why  did  his  friend  climb  up  in  the  dark, 
To  place  on  the  Belfry  the  signal  spark  ? 

In  all  the  school  books  here  of  old, 

The  story  was  well  and  clearly  told, 

How  Revere  that  night  where  he  went  or  came 

Set  the  torch  of  liberty  all  aflame. 

And  how  at  Concord  and  Lexington, 

The  farmers  turned  out  every  one, 

Just  as  the  Boers  are  doing  to-day 

For  the  same  old  fight,  in  the  same  old  way. 

But  since  we've  got  aristocracy  here, 

Who  visit  England  year  after  year, 

"  'Tisn't  thought  good  form  "  as  in  days  of  old 

To  have  the  story  again  retold. 

So  the  children  attending  our  schools  to-day, 
Learn  little  or  nothing  about  the  way 
The  farmers  at  Concord  their  flag  unfurled 
And  "  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  19 

And  how  the  minute-men  all  the  way  down 
Through  Lexington,  Arlington,  Charlestown, 
Kept  red-coat  hirelings  upon  the  run 
And  the  first  great  battle  for  Freedom  won. 

But  why  should  we  now,  of  our  heroes  sing, 
When  we're  doing  ourselves  the  self-same  thing 
That  the  English  did,  or  were  trying  to  do, 
When  we  rose  in  our  might  and  their  Cohorts  slew  ? 

Yes  !  we're  doing  worse  without  provocation 
Or  the  faintest  claim,  —  the  Phillipine  nation 
Expected  as  promised  our  timely  aid, 
But  instead  we  gave  her  a  robber  raid. 

George  the  Third  had,  here,  full  possession, 
But  turned  deaf  ears  to  each  intercession, 
Characteristic  of  English  greed, 
Not  one  request  would  King  George  concede. 

He  thought  he  was  right  and  from  his  point  view, 
Were  you  in  his  place  you'd  have  thought  so  too ; 
For  all  those  trained  as  queens  or  kings, 
Think  themselves  angels,  —  without  the  wings. 

King  George  thought  himself  'kin  to  divinity 
And  had,  without  buying  it,  sovereignty , 
He  thought  the  Colonies  were  his  by  right, 
So  hoe,  pigheaded,  kept  up  the  fight. 

George  had  at  least  a  king's  excuse, 

The  dogs  of  war  and  rapine  to  loose, 

But  we  bought  sovereignty  after  a  manner, 

And  have  trailed  in  blood  our  Starry  Banner. 


20  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

Our  rulers  apparently  think  that  we, 
Like  George  the  third  have  a  destiny, 
Since  Chamberlain  came  in  an  evil  hour 
And  told  them  to  make  us  a  "  world  power." 

"  Then,  the  two  great  wings  of  English  people 
Would  crush  out  all  those  crude  and  feeble  ; 
And  then,  with  the  Starry- Jack  unfurled 
The  Anglo-Saxons  would  rule  the  world. 

By  the  British  brand  of  Civilization," 

Which  means,  interpreted,  confiscation. 

The  picture  dazzled  our  ruler's  eyes, 

And  they  swallowed  the  bait  to  secure  the  prize  — 

They  promised  England  to  be  her  friend, 
Her  lines  on  this  continent  to  defend, 
While  she,  in  South  Africa,  settled  her  scores  ; 
With  Liberty's  Sons,  the  unconquered  Boers. 

So  they  changed  their  course  in  the  Philippines, 
Spend  hundreds  of  millions  of  the  people's  means, 
With  thousands  of  lives  and  with  lying  galore, 
They  have  made  them  our  foes,  who  were  friends  before. 

Then,  American  children  when  you  hear, 
The  garbled  story  of  Paul  Revere, 
Be  sure,  do  not  stop,  'till  you  get  the  rest, 
The  best  of  the  story  has  been  suppressed. 

Before  we  carry  out  Britain's  will, 
Let's  take  the  shaft  first  off  Bunker  Hill ; 
Give  up,  —  be  ruled  by  our  aristocracy, 
Our  boasted  liberty  is  rank  hypocrisy  I 


MOUNTAINS   OF  WEALTH   VS. 
VALLEYS  OF  WANT. 

ara* 

WHAT  a  world  of  joy  and  of  pleasure, 
We  could  make  of  this  earth  while  we're  here, 
If  insatiate  greed  after  treasure 
From  'mongst  us  would  once  disappear ! 
We  then,  while  assisting  each  other, 
Would  practice  this  principle  true, 
Act  towards  every  sister  and  brother 
As  you  would  have  them  act  towards  you  ! 

Then,  selfishness  from  us  would  vanish, 
There  would  be  no  room  for  its  play ; 
The  people  would  cease  to  be  clannish, 
With  gratitude  all  would  repay  — 
The  moment  it  came  in  their  power, 
The  favors  that  for  them  were  done  ; 
Then,  Heaven  its  blessings  would  shower, 
On  everyone  under  the  sun  ! 

No  need  then  for  hauling  or  mauling, 
No  need  for  "  political  pull ;  " 
Everyone  would  attend  to  their  calling, 
The  bear  would  lie  down  with  the  bull ; 
With  resources  of  civilization 
Applied  to  the  general  good, 
There  would  be  no  more  irritation 
Of  race,  or  of  creed,  or  of  blood  I 

21 


22  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Where's  the  sense  in  this  piling  of  treasure  ? 

It  cannqt  be  brought  to  the  grave, 

Those  with  greatest  of  wealth  have  least  pleasure, 

It  makes  its  possessor  a  slave  ; 

And  then,  when  the  soul  just  departed 

Is  sent  where  the  Judge  has  assigned ; 

Those  friends  feel  the  least  broken-hearted, 

Who,  most  of  the  treasure  can  find  ! 

Honest,  moderate  wealth  is  a  blessing, 
When  used  in  the  right  kind  of  way  ; 
It  gives  people  means  of  redressing 
Such  sorrows  as  come  every  day  ; 
If  the  hills  and  the  mountains  of  treasure 
Were  not  piled  so  high  we  all  know, 
The  valleys  of  want  in  like  measure 
Would  not  sink  so  hopelessly  low  ! 

######## 

But  patience  —  the  time  is  approaching, 
There's  no  use  in  fretting  at  all ; 
The  more  on  our  rights  they're  encroaching, 
The  sooner  and  deeper  their  fall : 
Not  their  fall,  but  the  fall  of  the  idols, 
Of  wealth,  and  of  pomp  and  of  show, 
When  we  doff  slavish  saddles  and  bridles 
We'll  have  plenty  and  peace  here  below  ! 


WATERTOWN  TOWN  HALL. 
MB* 

To  Henry  Clay  Derby  whose  genial  disposition  smoothed  down 
many  a  rising  tempest  and  whose  generous  nature  broadened  out 
narrow  minds  ;  the  following  is  respectfully  dedicated : 

I  CAME  to  live  in  Watertown  in  eighteen  sixty 
three, 

Ever  since  the  town  and  people  have  grown  very  dear 
to  me. 

I  at  first  had  slight  acquaintance  ;  not  a  solitary 
friend 

And  hadn't  much  temptation,  leisure  hours  to  mis- 
spend. 

I  read  much  and  cogitated  over  National  affairs 

And  grew  deeply  interested  ;  it  grows  on  one  una- 
wares ; 

And  to  every  town  meeting,  the  selectmen  used  to 
call, 

I  went  in  to  hear  the  speeches  made,  in  Watertown, 
Town  Hall. 

At  town  meetings  young  men  listened,  some  to  learn, 

some  for  sport, 
Whilst  the  older  men  dissected,  each  and  every  town 

report ; 

Assessors  and  collector,  selectmen,  school  committee, 
The  treasurer,  the  auditor,  or  no  one  else  went  free, 
From  the  very  closest  scrutiny,  just  this  and  nothing 

more, 


24  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

Then,  of  course,  they  re-elected  each  to  where  he 

was  before ; 
But  with  all  their  hot  debating,  not  a  word  did  ever 

fall, 
That  left  behind  a  sting  or  pain,  in  Watertown  Town 

Hall. 

But  many  of  the  citizens,  some  of  the  very  best, 
Sat  still  and  calmly  listened  until  came  the  voting 
test, 

These  always  gave  the  casting  votes,  the  votes  that 
won  the  day, 

And  then  laughed  off  ill  feeling,  gently,  playfully 
away; 

They  acted  as  a  brake  upon,  men  of  mercurial  thought, 

Who'd  jump  at  quick  conclusions,  always  quicker 
than  they  ought, 

Thus,  were  things  so  nicely  balanced,  at  the  modera- 
tor's call, 

There  came  promptly  peace  and  order,  in  old  Water- 
town  Town  Hall. 

When  any  great  calamity  occurred,  no  matter  where, 
A  helping-hand  from  Watertown  was  always  foremost 

there  ; 

The  victims  of  disaster  or  disease  met  timely  aid, 
'Twas  agreed,  when  aid  is  needed,  it  should  never  be 

delayed. 
So,  'though  close  and  calculating,  they  were  generous 

and  kind, 

A  higher  public  spirit  'twould  be  difficult  to  find ; 
The  honest  public  sentiment  pervading  one  and  all, 
Resulted  from  the  teaching  in,  old  Watertown,  Town 

Hall, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  26 

A  thirteen  acre  lot  was  bought  and  named  Wetomac 

Vale, 

For  cemetery  purposes  —  laid  out  in  lots  for  sale. 
A  man  proposed  division  for  the  Catholics  in  town, 
But  he  who  raised  the  question,  was  the  first  to  vote 

it  down. 
There  were  some  amusing  features  in  this  question, 

very  grave, 

Full  many  gruesome  arguments  the  opposition  gave, 
But,  to  quash  Sectarian  feeling  and  avoid  Sectarian 

brawl, 
We  wisely  turned  and  sold  the  lot,  in  Watertown, 

Town  Hall. 

On  the  question  of  pure  water  to  supply  it  to  the 

Town, 
Arose  the  highest  friction  — with  some  few  it  wouldn't 

down. 
For  ten  long  years  we  wrestled  with,  and  threshed  it 

o'er,  until, 

A  company  took  hold  of  it  and  managed  it  with  skill. 
From  the  start  I  was  for  water,  I  worked  for  it  night 

and  day, 
And  drank  one  long  deep  draught  of  it,  the  morn  I 

moved  away ; 
This   was   the   only  question  that  my  memory  can 

recall, 
That  left,  just  a  few,  disgruntled  in  old  Watertown, 

Town  Hall. 

I  here  mention  these  two  questions  just  as  samples, 

nothing  more, 
But  could,  did  time  and  space  permit,  enumerate  a 

score, 


26  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

To  illustrate  to  those  who  now,  the  ribbons  hold  in 

hand, 
The  high  ideals  of  olden  times,  all  o'er  this  Yankee 

land. 
But  selfishness  is  plainly  spreading,  growing  day  by 

day; 

I'm  sorry  I  have  seen  it  come  before  I  passed  away ; 
For,    if  self-government    survives  on  earth  'mongst 

men  at  all, 
'Twill  be  by  the  ideals,  once,  of  Watertown,  Town 

Hall. 

The  grand  old  men  of  Watertown  are  passing  one  by 

one, 
And  in  a  few  short  years  at  most,  they'll  all  be  dead 

and  gone. 
Will  those  who  take  their  places  be  as  trictly  pure 

and  clean  ? 
Will  they  stand  up  for  right  and  frown  on  things 

obscure  and  mean  ; 
Will  the  welfare  of  the  people  stand  out  foremost  in 

their  view 
And  will  they  for  true  liberty,  do  what  true  men 

should  do  ? 
If  so,  God's  choicest  blessings  on  their  words  and 

work  will  fall, 
As  once  it  did,  on  what   was  said,   in  Watertown 

Town  Hall. 


SAILING  DOWN  THE  HARBOR 


[Written  for  the  occasion  of  the  excursion  of  the  Irish-  American 
Club,  South  Boston  to  Gloucester,  Aug.  7,  1887.] 

SAILING  down   the  harbor,  skipping  down    the 
bay, 

Let  us  be  a  jovial,  social,  happy  crowd  to-day, 
Far  from  grief  and  sorrow,  free  from  care  and  woe, 
Sailing  down  the  harbor  where  the  cooling  breezes 
blow. 

Our  ship   is  staunch  and  steady,  our  captain  brave 

and  true, 

Cheerfully  assisted  by  a  faithful  hardy  crew, 
Then  never  think  of  danger,  let  mirth   and  humor 

flow, 
Sailing  down  the  harbor  where  the  cooling  breezes 

blow. 

Down  in  Boston  Harbor  with  spirits  light  and  free, 
Where  once  the  Sons  of   Freedom  dumped  in  the 

British  tea 
And  where  the  English  squadron  upon  St.  Patrick's 

day 
For  safety  weighed  their  anchors  and  abruptly  stole 

away. 

Oh  !  would,  dear  Mother  Erin,  this  boat  were  bound 

for  thee, 
Sailing  o'er  the  surface  of  this  placid,  tranquil  sea, 


28  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

How  joyfully  we'd  greet  thee,  dear  Mother,  could  we 

find 
Thee  free  and  independent  as  this  land  we  leave 

behind. 

Life  is  like  the  ocean,  we're  on  it  night  and  day  ; 

Some  sail  with  wind  and  tide,  while  some  are 
wrecked  and  cast  away, 

Then  when  you  see  a  brother  wrecked  on  misfor- 
tune's Strand 

Don't  pass  him  coldly  by  but  reach  a  friendly  help- 
ing hand. 

Sailing  down  life's  harbor,  rushing  through  the  years 
Sometimes  we  have  cause  for  smiles  and  sometimes 

cause  for  tears. 
So  let  us  steer  our  life-boats  that  when  the  haven's 

won. 
We  may  look  back  with  joy  upon  the  good  that  we 

have  done. 


ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 

am* 

Written  on  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of   the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  July  4,  1876. 

AIR  —  IRISH  MOLLY  O. 

5rT"<IS  just  one  hundred  years  ago  since  George  the 

1     Third  went  mad, 
He  swore  he  tax  the  Yankees  land,  and  everything 

they  had, 
But  Uncle  Sam  got  up  his  back  and  vowed  it  wouldn't 

go. 
He  trampled  on  the  English  flag  One  Hundred  Years 

Ago. 

CHORUS. 

Hip,  hurrah  !  for  the  men  — 
Men  who  fought  the  tyrant  foe 

And  burst  the  chains  of  all  oppressed 
One  Hundred  Years  Ago  ! 

How  the  people  supplicated,  almost  knelt  before  the 
throne, 

The  cold  contempt  they  met,  when  they  their  griev- 
ances made  known, 

How  the  haughty  hireling  soldiers  made  the  quarrel 
wider  grow, 

Is  written  in  the  story  of  One  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 

You've  heard  about  young  Paul  Revere,  the  signal  on 

the  spire, 
His  ride,  and  how  he  touched  the  spark  that  kindled 

freedom's  fire, 


30  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

The  way  he  roused  the  farmers  up,  and  how  they 

met  the  foe, 

On  Liberty's  nativity,  One  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 

In  Lexington  and  Concord,  how  the  minute  men  did 

swarm  ; 
For  English  red  coats  on  that  day,  "you  bet  "  they 

made  it  warm, 
They  didn't  count  the  cost,  but  let  their  life's  red 

current  flow, 
And  baptized  freedom  in  their  blood,  One  Hundred 

Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 

In  Boston  and  vicinity  for  many  miles  around, 

The  tread  of  hostle  troops  was  heard  —  a  most  un- 
welcome sound  ; 

But  Yankee  tactics  joined  with  Yankee  energy  and 
skill, 

Made  Johnny  Bull  pull  •  up  his  stakes,  and  move 
against  his  will. 

Chorus. 

For  seven  years  the  unequal  strife  relentlessly  went 
on, 

Our  side  directed  by  the  ever  glorious  Washington, 

Till  victory  with  tardy  steps  her  smiling  face  did 
show, 

And  perched  upon  the  stars  and  stripes,  One  Hun- 
dred Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 

I  won't  attempt  in  detail  their  achievements  to  re- 
hearse, 

I'll  leave  that  task  to  greater  bards  and  more  exalted 
verse ; 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  31 

My  object  is  to  make  the  youthful  heart  with  fervor 

glow, 
While  singing  of  the  heroes  of  One  Hundred  Years 

Ago. 

Chorus. 

Oh,  may  we  ever  emulate  the  noble  deeds  they've 

done, 
Let's  hand  their  record  down  with  care  from  sire 

unto  son, 
That  generations  yet  unborn  with  joyous  hearts  may 

know, 
The  gallant  deeds  their  fathers  did  One  Hundred 

Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 

Then  let  us  on  this  glorious  day  send  up  a  ringing 

cheer, 

And  let  it  be  re-echoed  in  lands  both  far  and  near, 
Till  countries  that  are  long  oppressed  may  rise  and 

strike  a  blow 
For  freedom  as  the  Yankee  did  One  Hundred  Years 

Ago. 

Chorus. 

You  sons  of  old  Hibernia,  who  have  made  this  land 

your  home, 
And  who  were  forced  by  wicked  laws,  for  shelter 

here  to  come, 
Oh  don't  forget  the  men  who  did  their  doors  wide 

open  throw, 
To  all  that  were  oppressed   on  earth  One  Hundred 

Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 


32  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Oh  Erin,  dear,  my  native  land,  the  land  I  love  the 

best, 
When  will  thy  sons  rise  up  as  if  by  magic  from  thy 

breast, 

And  with  determined  purpose  meet  the  same  relent- 
less foe, 

And  thrash  him  as  the  Yankee  did  One  Hundred 
Years  Ago. 

Chorus. 


AN  ADDRESS  TO  THE  CHARLES 

RIVER 

MM* 

THE  rivers  and  streams  in  all  countries  and  ages, 
Have  always  inspired  the  Bard's  choicest  strain, 
Their  fame  has  been  treasured  in  history's  pages, 
And  the  voice  of  their  water's  in  music's  refrain ; 
But  here  is  a  stream  in  whose  praise  scarcely  ever 
A  line  or  a  note  has  been  written  or  sung, 
Yet   'twas  on  thy  banks,  beauteous  bright  Charles 

river, 
That  Freedom's  first  trophy  from  tyrants  was  wrung. 

Old  Erin's  great  bard  in  his  "  Meeting  of  Waters," 
How  tenderly  sweet  were  the  numbers  he  gave, 
But    alas  !  by   those    streams   Erin's    sons   and  fair 

daughters, 

Still  sigh  like  the  captive,  or  weep  like  the  slave ; 
But  here  as  the  Charles  is  peacefully  flowing, 
Meandering  down  from  its  source  to  the  sea, 
A  smile  o'er  its  surface  seems  cheerfully  glowing, 
Whilst  fanned  by  the  breezes  of  sweet  Liberty. 

In  praising  the  Afton  and  Boon,  Robert  Burns 
Excelled  e'en  himself  in  each  word  and  each  line  ; 
But  the  sound  of  the  Pibroch  those  streams  ne'er 

returns, 

Nor  their  water  no  longer  doth  moisten  the  pine. 
But  here,  'ere  the  Charles  is  lost  in  the  ocean, 


34  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

It  lingers  awhile  and  is  playfully  still, 

As  if  rippling  with  joy  till  the  tide  is  in  motion, 

Reflecting  the  shaft  of  far  famed  Bunker  Hill. 

When  Nature,  fair  river,  her  gifts  cast  around  thee, 
She  lavished  upon  thee  her  rarest  and  best, 
But  the  halo  of  heroic  deeds  which  surround  thee, 
Is  what  makes  thee  dear  to  the  patriot  breast ; 
For  'twas  on  thy  banks  in  the  great  revolution, 
When  tyrants  determined  this  land  to  enslave, 
They  met  with  decisive  and  quick  retribution, 
Their  blood  stained  thy  shore  and  thy  clear  crystal 
wave. 

Yet  those  heroes  of  old,  ever  foremost  in  danger, 
Fit  men  to  inhabit  thy  beautiful  plains, 
Who  hurled  back  with  slaughter  the  despotic  stranger, 
Whenever  fair  freedom  was  threatened  with  chains, 
Left  no  lordly  castles  disgracing  thy  border, 
With  hundreds  of  hovels  maintaining  their  pride, 
But  the  fruits  of  frugality,  neatness  and  order, 
And  opulent  comfort  on  every  side. 

Since  I  left  thee,  dear  Erin,  sweet  gem  of  the  ocean, 
I've  travelled  o'er  many  and  many  a  mile, 
Yet  my  heart's  highest  hope  and  its  fondest  devotion, 
Still  lingers  unchanged  with  my  dear  native  isle  ; 
But  since  fate  has  decreed  that  thy  children   must 

ever 

Fly  from  thee  afar  if  they  wish  to  be  free, 
Then  a  home  on  the  banks  of  the  bright  Charles 

river, 

Next  to  thee,  beloved  Erin,  is  dearest  to  me. 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  35 

Flow  on  then  in  peace,  glide  along,  beauteous  river, 

As  a  messenger  down  to  the  great  rolling  sea, 

Bid  the  waves  bear  thee  onward  that  thou  mayst 

deliver 

A  message  of  hope  to  my  country  from  me. 
Rise  up  a  mist  o'er  that  island  of  sorrow, 
Fall  down  as  a  shower  on  every  sod. 
Bid  her  sons  as  thy  pure  inspiration  they  borrow, 
Bow  allegiance  to  none  but  their  Country  and  God. 


THE   ACQUISITION   OF   CANADA 
am 

Our  greatest  duty — the  thought  of  every  public  man,  year  in 
and  year  out,  should  be  directed  to  this,  our  greatest  national, 
economic,  political  and  military  safety,  the  acquisition  of  Canada. 
— Boston  Record. 

DEAR  Record,  your  idea  is  grand, 
You  are  right  by  all  manner  of  means  ! 
If  Uncle  Sam  wants  to  expand, 
With  Canada  here  at  his  hand, 

Why  reach  out  to  far  Philipines  ? 

You  are  right  —  every  sane  public  man 
Should  study  year  in,  and  year  out, 

How  best  to  accomplish  your  plan 

As  smooth  and  as  soon  as  we  can  ; 
It  must  be  done  soon  without  doubt. 

Acquisition  of  Canada  when 

Sought  not  on  low  land  grabbing  lines 

But  for  greater  good  for  all  men  — 

'Twill  come  about  naturally  then, 
In  the  way  common  justice  defines. 

Our  safety  you  truthfully  say 

Economic,  political  too  — 
Consists  in  Sam  getting  full  sway  — 
Then,  Canada  people  could  stay 

At  home  and  find  plenty  to  do. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  37 

While  now  her  fair  daughters  come  here, 

And  also  her  sons  in  their  prime, 
And  stories  too  often  we  hear, 
That,  some  of  them,  year  after  year, 

Make  not  the  best  use  of  their  time. 

How  blind  the  Canadians  must  be, 
To  send  their  young  people  away  ! 

The  blindest  are  those  who  wont  see 

That  if  their  own  country  was  free 
They  wouldn't  be  driven  away. 

Arbitration  we  then  wouldn't  need, 

In  fact  we  don't  need  it  at  all ; 
We  have  not  a  thing  to  concede  — 
In  thought,  or  in  word,  or  in  deed  ; 

For  which  England  on  us  can  call. 

A  bargain  can  quickly  be  made, 

To  pay  Mr.  Bull  a  fair  price, 
Though  Sam  is  by  no  means  afraid, 
He  wants  no  land  grabbing  by  raid, 

He'll  buy  the  whole  thing,  not  a  slice. 

Let  history  mould  on  its  shelves, 
Thenceforward  the  world  can  see, 

A  people  that  digs  and  that  delves, 

Successfully  governs  themselves, 
In  a  land  blest,  contented  and  free. 


RECIPROCITY 


IRISH  AIR  —  PATRICK  O'RAFFERTY 

A  surfeit  of  over-worked,  out-of-date  sophistry 
Is  urged  here  of  late  against  fair  reciprocity  ; 
To  please  a  mere  few  of  the  (once-famed)  Home  Mar- 

ket Club, 
The  people  by  millions  are  robbed   buying  market 

grub. 

Oh  !  dear,  —  what  shall  become  of  us  ? 
Through  —  fear  —  many  are  mum  of  us  ! 
For  fear  of  offending  some  Glou-ces-ter  cod-fishers, 
We  pay  about  double  to  Home  Market  shad-fishers. 

They  brag  and  they  boast  about  booming  prosperity  — 
Who  ever  before  heard  such  base  insincerity  ? 
With  prices  a-kiting,  pay  cut  with  ferocity  ; 
"  Stand  pat  "  is  the  mandate  against  reciprocity. 

How  —  queer  —  'tisn't  through  statesmanship  ; 

Through  —  fear  —  "  Boss  "  holds  his  leadership. 

And,  lest  son-in-law,  should  lose  votes,  much  menda- 
city, 

Is  practiced  and  preached  against  fair  reciprocity. 

There's  coal  in  abundance  within  a  day's  sail  of  us, 
And  lumber  galore  that  would  help  a  great  deal  of 

us; 

But  lest  it  might  dampen  campaign  generosity, 
Hands  off,  is  the  dictum  against  reciprocity. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  39 

How  —  queer  —  things  that  the  people  want, 
Though  —  near  —  are  made  so  dear  and  scant. 
Jump  on  the  band  wagon,  we'll  drive  with  velocity, 
Over  the  schemers  who  fight  reciprocity ! 


A   NEW   RECIPROCITY   SONG 


AIR  —  THE  GOOD  OLD  SUMMER  TIME, 

FOR  years  we  discussed, 
And  we  fussed,  and  was  cussed, 
For  protection  'gainst  foreign  free-trade  — 

Then  the  trusts  came  a  rushing, 

And  pushing  and  crushing, 
Grabbing  all  the  protectionists'  aid. 

They're  now  getting  the  fat, 

And  their  cry  is,  "  stand  pat," 
Roaring  out  a  fanatical  blare  — 

To  down  their  audacity 

'Gainst  reciprocity, 
We'll  fight  for  a  deal  fair  and  square. 

CHORUS. 

We  want  but  an  honest  deal  boys  — 

A  square  and  honest  deal  ; 
We'll  make  those  who  refuse  boys, 

Our  indignation  feel  — 

"  Stand  pat  !  "  for  what  ? 

Let  trusts  get  fat 
While  workers  in  indigence  reel, 

To  down  this  audacity, 

'Gainst  reciprocity, 
We  demand  a  Rooseveltian  deal  ! 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  41 

Working  women  and  men 

That  again  and  again, 
Had  been  promised  a  short  working  day  ! 

(With  "home  market"  protected, 

The  way  it  directed, 
To  keep  foreign  products  away), 

Receive  no  attention, 

Not  one  word  of  mention, 
High  prices,  long  hours,  is  their  share  — 

To  down  this  audacity, 

'Gainst  reciprocity, 
We're  demanding  a  deal  fair  and  square. 

Chorus. 


THE    NIGHTWATCH    OF    LIBERTY 
BELL 


Respectfully  dedicated  to  Sergt.  Edwin  E.  Snow,  June  17,  1903. 

AMONG  the  attractions  in  Boston  of  late, 
That  of  welcoming  Liberty  Bell 
Afforded  Bostonians  a  pleasure  so  great 

'T  will  long  in  their  memory  dwell. 
Philadelphia's  Mayor  escorted  it  here  ; 
'T  was  received  by  our  Mayor  with  welcome  sincere  ; 
The  people  in  thousands  came  from  far  and  near 
To  welcome  Old  Liberty  Bell. 

CHORUS. 

The  Bell  that  rang  out  independence 
Was  met  with  most  loving  remembrance  ; 
With  earnest,  respectful  attendance, 
All  welcomed  Old  Liberty  Bell. 

It  was  not  curiosity  brought  people  out 

To  gaze  on  old  Liberty  Bell  ; 
'Twas  not  for  amusement  nor  frolic  nor  rout  : 

It  was  for  what  it  once  toll-ed  so  well. 
The  precious  old  Bell,  after  making  its  call 
On  famed  Bunker  Hill  and  old  Faneuil  Hall, 
Was  placed  on  the  Common  for  one  and  for  all 

To  visit  Old  Liberty  Bell. 

Chorus. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  43 

The  Ancient  Artillery,  chosen,  of  course, 

To  guard  the  loved  relic  all  night, 
Were  duly  provided  with  every  resource  - 

For  a  duty  so  pleasant  and  light. 
Through  lowering  clouds  not  a  star  shed  a  ray, 
Yet  electrical  sparks  turned  dark  night  into  day, 
Enabling  thousands  due  homage  to  pay 

Inspiring  Old  Liberty  Bell. 

Chorus. 

They  came  in  vast  numbers,  no  creed,  race,  or  class, 

Was  thought  of  all  day  or  all  night ; 
They  formed  in  line  orderly  by  it  to  pass  — 

To  touch  it  gave  keenest  delight. 
Then  after  midnight,  when  the  living  had  fled, 
The  Ancients  declare  the  illustrious  dead 
Came  hovering  round  it,  and  wise  words  they  said 

While  visiting  Liberty  Bell. 

Chorus. 

Patrick  Henry,  the  Adamses,  Hancock,  Revere, 

With  Jefferson,  came  in  full  view  ; 
George  Washington,  dignified,  calm,  and  severe, 

With  Franklin  and  others  came,  too. 
The  Ancients  were  feeling  the  right  kind  of  way 
To  listen  and  hear  what  the  ghosts  had  to  say 
From  the  midhour  of  night  till  the  dawning  of  day, 

As  they  hovered  round  Liberty  Bell. 

Chorus. 

Benjamin  Franklin,  the  wise  and  the  good 
(The  Ancients  declare  without  doubt), 


44  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Arose  and  most  earnestly  said,  as  he  stood, 

To  the  Bell,  before  all  those  about : 
"  It  is  well  you  have  visited  Boston  ; 
Strange  seas  is  the  ship-of -state  tossed  on ; 
It  would  seem  independence  is  lost  on 

Some  new  statesmen,  Liberty  Bell." 

Chorus. 

George  Washington,  rising  with  dignity  said  : 

"  Those  new  statesmen  slight  or  ignore 
My  farewell  address  and  the  lines  therein  laid 

By  myself  and  the  statesmen  of  yore  ; 
Imperialist  leanings,  the  mountainous  wealth 
Obtained  and  amassed  mostly  through  legal  stealth 
Is  fast  undermining  clean,  strong  public  health," 
"  Too  true  !  "  echoed  all  round  the  Bell. 

Chorus. 

John  Hancock  declared  that  the  term  Commonwealth, 

Which  he  to  the  Puritans  traced, 
While  laws  are  enacted  to  legalize  stealth, 

Is  misunderstood  or  misplaced. 
Tom  Jefferson,  smiling,  said  to  Paul  Revere  : 
"  'T  is  well  that  the  Ancients  are  listening  here ; 
They  will  spread  what  is  said  far  and  wide,  never  fear, 

By  us  ghosts  around  Liberty  Bell." 

Chorus. 

Patrick  Henry  arose  and  said  :  "  Be  of  good  cheer ; 

The  people  as  ever  are  right ; 
I  have  witnessed  the  throngs  that  came  eagerly  here 

To  visit  this  Bell  day  and  night. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  45 

As  before,  when  the  time  comes  they'll  say  in  a  breath, 
'  Arise,  freemen,  rise  ;  we'll  have  freedom  or  death  ! ' 
Then  self-seeking  schemes  will  be  trod  underneath." 
"  Hip  hurrah  !  "  echoed  all  round  the  Bell. 

Chorus. 

I  cannot  relate  all  the  Ancients  heard  said 

While  guarding  the  Bell  through  the  night, 
Suffice  it  to  say,  they  declared  to  the  dead 

They  themselves  would  for  Liberty  fight. 
The  "  Thorndike  "  handy,  they  visited  oft, 
And  many  bright  toasts  to  sweet  Liberty  quaffed, 
Till  the  ghosts,  they  declare,  joined  their  party  and 

laughed, 
And  all  drank  au  revoir  to  the  Bell. 

Chorus. 


THE   PEOPLE'S    CAMPAIGN 

MPMP 
IRISH  AIR  —  HEARTILY  WELCOME  EVERYONE. 

THE  campaign  for  justice  and  right  has  begun 
Let's  all  take  a  hand  till  the  vict'ry  is  won  ; 
Imperialist  trusts  have  sprung  up  by  the  score, 
That  never  were  known  in  this  country  before, 
Grafters  all 
Plundering  Grafters ! 
Self-seeking  graft-grabbers 
Everyone ! 

The  hide-and-go-seek  way,  these  trusts  came  along, 
Shows  plainly  as  day  they  are  founded  on  wrong  ; 
Then  loiter  no  longer  —  jump  into  the  fight, 
For  fairplay  and  honesty,  justice  and  right. 

Put  down  all, 

Trustified  grafters  ! 

Self-seeking  graft-grabbers 
Everyone ! 

The  imperialist  trusts  that  came  on  us  by  stealth, 

Is  fast  undermining  industrial  health 

The  cause  of  the  people  no  grafter  can  see, 

His  thought  is  "  How  much  is  there  in  it  for  me  ? " 

Grafters  all, 

Illegal  Grafters ! 

Self-seeking  graft-grabbers 
Everyone ! 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  47 

The  •'  Home-market  "  having  been  monopolized, 
Foreign  Markets  by  "  Home-market  "  grabbers  are 

prized, 

Not  through  reciprocity  —  honest  —  sincere 
But  to  sell  surplus  —  goods  to  keep  prices  up  here. 
Home  competition 
Gone  to  perdition  ! 
Strangled  by  trust-grabbers 
All  of  it  gone  ! 

Doctor  Faunce  said  in  Boston  "  a  boss  doesn't  lead 
Place  villians  in  office,  for  villians  they'll  plead, 
A  leader  and  boss  cannot  well  be  the  same 
One  stands  for  the  right — one  looks  out  for  the  game." 

Down  them  all  ! 

Bosses  and  villians, 

Self-seeking  graft-grabbers 
Everyone ! 

To  show  up  the  schemers  who  are  in  it  for  stuff, 
Year  in,  and  year  out,  will  be  little  enough  ! 
Then  all  pull  together  with  hearty  accord 
The  work  people's  voice  is  the  voice  of  the  Lord. 
Workers  all 
Honest  wage  workers 
Down  with  the  trust-grafters 
Everyone. 


POPULATION   vs.   SELF- 
PRESERVATION 


OOME  four  and  eighty  years  ago, 

O     One  Mai  thus  wrote  —  how  population 

Would,  if  not  checked,  soon  far  outgrow 

Resources  of  the  proudest  nation  ; 
That  famine,  pestilence  and  war 

Were  Providential  visitations, 
Sent  by  our  Great  Creator  for 

Reducing  surplus  populations  ! 

In  those  days  though  the  things  were  crude, 

Engaged  in  sustenance  production  ; 
Such  talk  was  but  a  thin  prelude 

To  some  projected  loot  eruption, 
Even  now  in  these  inventive  times, 

With  multiplied  productive  power  ; 
The  looters  still,  to  shield  their  crimes, 

Behind  some  thin  excuses  cower. 

The  threatening  dangers  which  arise, 

Like  spectres  passing  'neath  our  vision, 
Have  ceased  to  even  cause  surprise, 

Though  gaining  daily  in  precision. 
We  do  not  even  halt  to  ask 

Where-to  our  ship  of  state  is  drifting. 
Those  who  in  wealth  and  power  bask, 

Don't  stop  to  see  her  ballast  shifting. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  49 

But,  patience  —  in  God's  own  good  time' 

When  selfishness  has  gone  the  limit  ; 
His  "punishment  will  fit  the  crime  ;" 

From  Him,  excuses  cannot  dim  it. 
He  has  found  a  leader,  as  before, 

(When  prudent  leadership  was  needed,) 
Who'll  guide  us  as  in  days  of  yore, 

When  to  Him  men  for  justice  pleaded. 


AN  OPEN  EPISTLE  TO  HONORABLE 
HENRY  CABOT  LODGE 


TJONORABLE  Henry  Cabot  Lodge, 
1  1  Why  do  you  honest  issues  dodge, 
Making  political  hodge-podge 

Of  this  whole  matter, 
Hiding  'midst  sophistry  and  fudge 

A  staunch  stand-patter  ? 

You  seem  by  every  word  and  deed 

To  think,  men  don't  know  what  they  need, 

While  venal  trust's  insatiate  greed, 

Is  backed  by  you, 
Whatever  they  request  you  heed, 

And  promptly  do. 

Your  estimate  seems  rather  low, 
Of  what  the  common  people  know, 
At  least  for  them  you  yearly  show 

Much  unconcern  ; 
Though  scholarly  you're  sometimes  slow 

Plain  facts  to  learn. 

For  many  moons  wise  business  men, 
Have  asked  again  and  yet  again, 
To  have  you  take  up  there  and  then 
And  plead  their  cause  ; 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  51 

You  have  sneered  at  all  their  pleadings,  when 
On  tariff  laws. 

You  never  yet  told  square  and  flat, 
In  manly  terms,  where  you  are  at, 
Whether  or  not  you  are  standing  pat 

'Gainst  reciprocity, 
You  talk  of  everything  but  that, 

With  much  verbosity. 

Now  let  me  ask  you,  sir,  in  brief  ; 

Is  it  not  time  to  get  relief, 

From  every  scheming  public  thief  ? 

Square  legislation, 
Would  bring  the  culprits  all  to  grief 

Throughout  the  nation. 

I  long  had  fondest  hopes  that  you 
Would  nothing  but  the  square  thing  do, 
But  I  must  take  a  different  view, 

Alas  I  must ! 
Since  you,  your  strenuous  efforts  threw, 

To  aid  the  trusts. 

Full  many  a  time  I've  talked  with  you, 

About  protection  fair  and  true, 

But  since,  trust  grafters  made  a  stew 

Not  heard  of  then  ; 
The  tariff  now  protects  these  few  — 

Not  workingmen. 

We  used  to  say  —  home  competition, 
Kept  prices  in  a  safe  position  ; 


52  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

But  now,  they're  running  to  perdition 

Hop,  step  and  leap  ! 
Fixed  by  trust  emanant  volition 

Up  wealth  to  heap, 

Trusts  lower  the  price  to  each  producer, 

Increases  it  'gainst  each  consumer, 

Of  free  trade  there's  left  scarce  a  rumor 

Between  the  States  ; 
Yet,  to  stand  pat  you're  greatest  boomer 

That  now  orates. 

"  O  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 

To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us  ! 

It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us," 

In  legislation  ; 
We'd  make  trust  graft-promoters  flee  us, 

In  trepidation  ! 

Then,  clear  of  legislative  stealth, 

We'd  have  once  more  a  Commonwealth, 

Then,  industry  would  have  sound  health 

Again,  —  and  Honor. 
Would  soon  be  cleansed  from  all  the  filth 

Now  piled  upon  her  ! 

This  ends  epistle  one,  to  you, 
But  soon  I'll  write  epistle  two, 
I'll  give  a  cursory  review 

Since  eighty-four ; 
Of  things  you  did  and  did  not  do  — 

Till  then,  no  more  ! 


WHITELAW    REID'S    CORONATION 
BREECHES 


YE  Anglomaniacs  attend, 
I  have  composed  for  ye  a  ditty  ; 
Your  hides  are  thick  —  I  can't  offend, 

But  then  it's  meant  for  ye  in  pity. 
How  Whitelaw  Reid  was  sent,  all  know  ; 

He  paid  his  way  from  his  own  riches, 
To  see  the  coronation  show, 

And  wear  his  coronation  breeches.* 

When  Kitchener  to  down  the  Boer 

Drove  young  and  old  in  concentration, 
King  Edward's  stomach  got  too  sore 

For  fear  'twould  spoil  his  coronation. 
His  sickness  now  is  much  deplored, 

He's  all  patched  up  with  scars  and  stitches, 
The  coronation  is  postponed 

And  Whitelaw  Reid  can't  wear  his  breeches. 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an  men 
Gang  aft  a  glie,"  said  Robert  Burns  ; 

Even  kings  are  not  exempted  —  when 

Adverse  winds  blow,  they  take  their  turns. 

'Though  toadies  cringe  to  lowest  plane 
They're  often  caught  in  unseen  ditches  ; 

*A11  but  the  last   verse   was  written  immediately   after    King 
Edward's  coronation. 


54  SONGS    AND    POEMS 

So  Reid  can't  bear  King  Edward's  train, 
Nor  wear  his  Coronation  breeches. 

King  Edward  now  is  getting  well, 

That  he  was  ill  is  problematic  ; 
Some  well  informed  say  he  fell 

In  sickness,  Royal  —  diplomatic. 
But  be  this  question  as  it  may, 

Another  this  one  far  out-reaches, 
All  Anglo-Saxons  ask  and  say 

What  shall  be  done  with  Whitelaw's  breeches. 


Well,  Whitelaw  now  is  back  again, 

He  has  at  last  his  fond  desire ; 
He  need'nt  dress  in  trousers  plain, 

Such  as  Americans  require. 
He'll  revel  in  each  English  fad 

Without  mishaps  or  halts  or  hitches, 
His  fawning  nature  must  feel  glad 

To  wear  his  coronation  breeches. 


BOSTON'S  WELCOME  TO  GRAND 
ARMY  VETERANS 


Written  for  and  dedicated  to   the  G.  A.  R.  and  their  Southern 
guests  at  their  camp-fire  in  Boston,  August  16,  1904. 

OLD  Boston  is  dressed  in  her  finest  array 
To  honor  the  blue  and  to  welcome  the  gray, 
From  her  heart,  in  response  to  fraternity's  call, 
She  bids  a  warm,  "  cead  mille  faulthia  "  to  all, 
This  welcome  she  gives  with  the  keenest  sincerity  ; 
Untamed  by  sect,  or  by  section  asperity. 
Her  prayer  is  :    May  union,  peace,  friendship,  pros- 

perity 
Bless  every  square  foot  of  our  God-given  soil  ! 

It's  a  glorious  sight  for  our  eyes  to  behold  : 

Too  precious  for  purchase  by  silver  or  gold  ; 

To  see  brave  old  vet'rans  —  the    South    with    the 

North  — 

In  peace  marching  peacefully,  cheerfully  forth, 
And  here  in  the  birth-place  of  full  human  liberty  — 
Still  as  ever  opposed  to  monarchical  deviltry  — 
Is  the  place  to  cement  friendship,  union,  civility  ; 
Getting  rid,  and  forever,  of  sectional  wrath. 

A  true  Boston  welcome  we  tender  to  all  ; 
May  no  note  of  discord  from  anyone  fall. 
From  swelling  Atlantic's  to  Pacific's  shore, 
May  union  and  peace  be  the  cry  evermore. 


56  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Let  this  form  the  basis  of  loyal  fraternity , 
Reaching  through  time  to  the  verge  of  eternity. 
Let's  ask  through  our  Heavenly  Father's  paternity 
The  graces  we  need  and  the  peace  we  implore. 

Then,  vet'rans,  when  going  from  Boston  away, 

Take  with  you  our  very  best  wishes  for  aye ! 

That  the  peace  you  have  conquered  may  with  us 

remain  : 

Your  ballots,  not  bullets,  can  do  it  again. 
When  this  country  you  saved   shall   be  ruled  with 

sobriety  — 

Not  with  the  intrusive,  imperial  variety, 
For  which  of  late  years  we  have  gained  notoriety  — 
The  blood  you  have  shed  won't  have  fallen  in  vain. 


ENGLAND'S   PEACE    INVASION    OF 
BOSTON 

OR 

John  Bull  and  Uncle  Sam 

MM* 
AIR  —  YANKEE    DOODLE. 

ONCE  big  John  Bull  and  Uncle  Sam 
Had  much  misunderstanding, 
Big  Johnny  thought  it  all  a  sham, 

And  kept  on,  troops  here  landing. 
All  this  was  when  young  Sam  was  weak, 

But  since  he  has  grown  stronger 
John  Bull  and  sons  no  trouble  seek 
They're  enemies  no  longer. 

CHORUS. 

For  Uncle  Sam  is  great  and  strong 
And  yearly  growing  stronger 
With  him  John  now  would  jog  along 
As  enemy  no  longer. 

Brave  Uncle  Sam  made  one  mistake 

Amongst  the  Filipinos 
Another  chance  he  will  not  take 

Not  with  the  experience  he  knows 
'Twas  England  lured  him  into  it 

Joe  Chamberlain  came  over 

57 


58  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Assured  McKinley  'twould  be  fit 
And  Sam  would  be  in  clover. 

CHORUS. 

They  wanted  to  entangle  Sam 

While  John  the  Boers  invaded 

When  they  propose  this  new  peace  sham 

There's  some  place  to  be  raided. 

John's  peace-men  now  have  come  across 

The  swelling  foaming  ocean 
They  say  they  come  to  save  all  loss 

From  wars  wild,  fierce  commotion, 
The  truth  is,  both  John's  hands  are  full 

Of  plundered  prostrate  nations 
And,  they  want  Sam  to  aid  John  Bull 

In  all  his  devastations. 

CHORUS. 

But  Uncle  Sam  unlike  Japan 
Won't  fill  John's  expectations 
Nor  soil  his  hands  to  aid  the  plan 
Of  plundering  foreign  nations. 


THE   HOME   MARKET  CLUB 


Edward  Fitzwilliam  :  I  have  invited  about  thirty  gentlemen, 
yourself  included,  to  take  a  Norfolk  Club  Dinner  with  me  at 
Parker  House,  Saturday,  Feb.  12,  at  2  P.M. 

I  desire  to  form  a  non-political  club  in  favor  of  protecting  our 
own  market  for  our  own  people. 

Please  reply  immediately, 

GEORGE  DRAPER. 
HOPEDALE,  MASS.,  Feb.  3,  1887. 


EORGE  Draper  first  formed  the  Home  Market 

Club. 

Said  he,  "  It  shan't  be  a  big  banquet  club, 
Nor  a  partisan,  prostitute  blanket  club, 

To  cover  political  crimes, 
It  will  be  a  sincere  educational  club, 
Not  a  thick-and-thin  party  sensational  club, 
But  an  all-wool  American  national  club  ; 

To  cope  with  the  greed  of  the  times. 

I  want  it  to  be  a  protection  club, 
Not  a  monopolistic  erection  club, 
Nor  a  game  and  champagne,  indigestion  club, 

Where  sophists  tell  fables  for  facts. 
I  mean  it  to  be  a  producers'  club, 
Not  an  impudent,  lying  traducers'  club, 
Nor  a  pompous,  complacent  amusers'  club, 

For  tricksters  to  cover  their  tracks. 

I  mean  that  the  weavers'  and  spinners'  club, 
And  every  honest  bread-winner's  club, 


60  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

The  old  and  the  newly  beginners'  club, 
Shall  with  the  Home  Market  partake. 

It  will  be  a  good  citizens  making  club, 

A  fair  play  in  giving  and  taking  club  ; 

A  sound,  conscientious  non-faking  club, 

Our  Home  Market  Club  we  must  make, 

I  was  with  him  the  day  that  he  named  the  club, 
And  again  on  the  day  that  he  framed  the  club, 
He  died  —  then  new  schemers  defamed  the  club, 

In  many  a  devious  way. 
It  got  shaded  an  A.  P.  A-istic  cjub,* 
And  a  thinly-veiled  anti-papistic  club, 
When  'twas  made  an  imperialistic  club 

What  man  of  true  spirit  could  stay  ? 
******* 

It  now  has  become  an  exclusive  club, 
A  Log-i-cal  Rooter's  obtrusive  club, 
An  arrogant  dodger's  exclusive  club, 

As  seen  in  the  speeches  just  made. 
A  pandering,  shallow,  misleading  club, 
For  bosses  a  cheap  interceding  club, 
This  recreant  new-rich  ill-breeding  club, 

For  new  trusts  the  old  have  betrayed  ! 

*  The  Home  Market  Club  was  started  by  George  Draper  of 
Hopedale,  as  an  educational  club,  that  was  to  be  non-partisan  and 
non-sectarian.  Mr.  William  Power  Wilson,  the  club's  first  secre- 
tary will  bear  testimony  to  this  fact. 

After  Mr.  Draper's  death  which  occurred  soon  after  the  forma- 
tion of  the  Club,  Mr.  Wilson  resigned  as  its  secretary  and  a 
newly  arrived  Englishman  —  Herbert  Radcliffe,  a  free-trader  at 
heart,  and  a  narrow,  anti-Irish  bigot  to  boot,  by  some  underhand 
method  or  "  pull,"  was  selected  for  and  installed  Secretary  of  the 
Club.  Under  Radcliffe's  management  a  radical  change  was  made 
in  both  the  principles  and  purpose  of  the  club.  Instead  of  it  being 
made  an  educational  non-partisan  club,  where  employer  and  em- 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  61 

ployee  could  meet  on  common  ground,  once  or  twice  a  year,  at  a 
dinner  not  to  cost  over  a  dollar  or  two  a  plate  and  an  annual 
business  meeting  where  they  could  discuss,  not  only  the  tariff  but 
other  questions  of  common  interest  amicably  together,  as  Mr. 
Draper  intended,  it  started  out  with  a  big  exclusive  manufacturers' 
banquet  at  $5.00  a  plate  and  the  employee's  were  conspicuous  only 
by  their  absence.  With  reference  to  the  anti-papistic  standing  of 
the  club  ;  is  it  not  a  fact  that  Catholics  are  as  conspicuous  by  their 
absence  as  they  have  been  on  the  Republican  State  ticket  of 
Massachusetts,  on  which  not  a  Catholic  name  has  ever  yet  ap- 
peared, nor  "never  will  appear  while  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  is  boss  of 
that  party.  This  is  a  statement  founded  on  personal  knowledge 
and  a  prediction  founded  on  experience. 


THE  TRUST-I-FIED   HOME 

MARKET   CLUB 

MM* 

THE  trustified  Home  Market  Club, 
With  rich  headquarters  at  the  Hub, 
Was  organized,  false  views  to  rub 

From  voters  of  this  land, 
George  Draper  did  it  organize  — 

Few  men  than  he  more  square  or  wise — 
He  died  —  they  changed  for  schemes  and  wiles, 
The  principles  he  planned. 

With  all  its  pertinacity 

And  much  assumed  sagacity  ; 
If  Draper  were  to  pass  it,  he 

Would  never  know  his  club. 
It  long  since  ceased  to  educate ; 

Its  task  is  but  to  masticate 
A  yearly,  or  half-yearly,  plate 

Of  ill-digesting  "grub." 

It  dictates  to  the  G.  O.  P. 

What  height  the  tariff  wall  must  be, 
A  course  for  every  trust  to  see 

Erected  on  that  wall, 
Is  all  the  Club  is  living  for, 

It  looks  and  asks  for  this  — no  more, 
On  reciprocity  it's  sore  ; 

'T  won't  hear  of  that  at  all. 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  68 

It  has  pet  trusts,  and  cries  "  stand  pat ; " 

"We  have  the  cream  ;  we  have  the  fat ; 
Hold  firmly  on  to  all  we've  got, 

Still  greater  wealth  to  draw  — 
Put  out  your  cash  election  time  ; 

Stamp  out  all  discontent  and  crime ; 
The  higher  our  trusts  soar  and  climb, 

The  less  we  fear  the  law." 


This  pledge  was  made  to  workingmen  ; 

"  Much  shorter  hours  will  answer  when 
A  tariff  tax  is  levied  —  then 

Few  foreign  goods  can  come ; 
With  up-to-date  machinery 
And  sharpened  Yankee  keenery ; 
You'll  view  earth's  beauteous  scenery  ; 

From  work,  going  early  home." 

But  with  all  products  trust-i-fied, 

This  promise  has  been  nullified  ; 
With  markets  over-much  supplied  ; 

The  hunt  is  on  for  more  — 
Not  through  the  generosity 

Of  honest  reciprocity, 
But  by  un-named  atrocity 

On  a  far,  once  friendly  shore. 

Then,  let  us  up  and  at  them,  boys  ! 

Upon  the  run  we've  got  them,  boys ; 
Home  market  trusts  by  bluff  and  noise 

Must  never  rule  this  land  1 


64  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Remember'  old-time  Minute-men  : 
Domestic  foes  are  here  again  : 

Arise  !  make  our  loved  country  clean  ; 
Sincerely  —  truly  grand  !  ! 


HOW    BEST    TO   CELEBRATE    THE 
FOURTH 

MM* 

IN  East  in  West  in  South  in  North 
How  best  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  ? 
In  every  town  and  city  ward, 
Let  everyone  pay  due  regard, 
To  what  occurred  upon  that  day, 
Fair  Freedom's  foes  to  drive  away 
Responsive  to  her  earnest  call 
In  far-famed  Independence  Hall. 

Hold  puplic  meetings  everywhere, 
In  grove  or  hall,  on  park  or  square, 
Then  let  all  those  who  prize  it  most, 
Rehearse  what  liberty  has  cost. 

The  sacrifice  the  Father's  made, 
Of  health,  of  life,  of  wealth,  of  trade  ; 
Of  sacred  honor  pledged  by  all, 
To  "  hang  together  "  stand  or  fall ! 
Let  this  be  told  in  prose  or  rhyme, 
To  offset  trust  graft-grabbing  crime, 
Which  has  of  late  years  seemed  to  grow 
More  dang'rous  than  worst  foreign  foe  ! 


The  meetings  over  give  the  boys, 
Full  swing  for  patriotic  noise 


66  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

With  all  the  things  that  make  the  same, 
Excepting  things  that  kill  or  maim  ; 
They'll  know  the  meaning  of  it  then 
Which  they'll  remember  grown  to  men. 
Explosives  that  would  life  destroy, 
'Gainst  foreign  foes  alone,  employ, 
But  every  man  and  boy  should  know, 
Our  one  hereditary  foe  ! 

Domestic  foes,  the  most  to  fear 
(And  we  have  quite  a  few  yet  here,) 
By  freemens  ballots  must  be  fought, 
To  save  the  boon  so  dearly  bought : 
A  boon  that  once  supinely  lost, 
Can't  be  retrieved  at  any  cost. 

Let's  wait  and  watch,  and  watch  and  wait, 
The  leaven  working  through  the  state  — 
Throughout  the  country  far  and  wide 
Crooks  have  aroused  the  people's  pride, 
And  indignation,  burning  hot, 
Against  the  whole  nefarious  lot. 

John  B.  Moran  to  make  things  straight 
Has  made  law  stranglers  feel  irate  ; 
But  he  has  scarcely  yet  begun 
Before  next  Fourth  we'll  have  rare  fun  ! 

With  Fitz  in  Patrick  Collins'  chair 
And  Moran  working  things  to  square 
We'll  have  a  Fourth  like  days  of  yore 
When  crooks  are  heard-of  nevermore. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  67 

Eternal  vigilance  'tis  said, 

Is  still  the  price  that  must  be  paid, 

Gainst  foreign  foes  who  would  invade, 

And  those  that  we  ourselves  have  made 

By  cold  indifference  —  mavrone  — 

Or  "letting  well  enough  alone." 

John  B.  has  shown  —  John  Fitz  will  show 

That  outlaws  from  the  Hub  must  go  ! 

On  reading  this  dear  friend  take  heart 
Take  hold  and  do  a  freeman's  part  : 
When  we  of  home-made  foes  are  clear, 
Of  foreign  foes  we'll  have  no  fear. 
How  best  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  ? 
Proclaim  what  liberty  is  worth, 
And  act  it  out,  by  night,  by  day, 
Till  every  fear  has  passed  away, 
Then  this  old  Hub  again  shall  stand 
The  cleanest  city  in  the  land  ! 

When  cranks  and  fads  and  feuds  shall  cease 
And  wealth  producers  can  have  peace 
When  legislators  will  be  clean, 
And  stoop  to  nothing  low  or  mean ; 
When  third-house  schemes  are  cast  aside 
And  Honor  can  again  preside  ; 
Then  public  cleanliness  and  health 
Will  bless  this  grand  old  Commonwealth. 
When  all  things  here  are  reconciled  — 
Assisted  by  young  Governor  Guild 
We'll  show  to  all  south,  west,  and  north, 
How,  best  to  celebrate  the  Fourth. 


THE  SCHEMER'S    REVOLUTION 


ANEW  imperialistic  law 
Is  passed  on  Beacon  Hill, 
The  imperial  Boss  a  rare  chance  saw, 
To  thwart  the  people's  will  ; 
The  state  police,  by  Boston  paid 
To  keep  us  all  in  order  ; 
Must,  under  this  law,  change  their  trade, 
And  make,  by  their  official  aid, 
The  road  for  voters  harder. 

The  Boss  must  have  dictated  this 

Imperialistic  notion, 

He  wants,  of  course,  to  fashion  his 

Like  that  across  the  ocean. 

Imperialists  expect  to  see 

Us,  'neath  this  law  grow  nervous 

When,  if  we  budge  the  next  will  be 

The  pompous,  proud  mil-it-a-ry 

Put  on  election  service. 

Full  many  a  change  has  taken  place 

In  lightening  quick  succession, 

For  ten  years  past,  look  back  and  trace' 

Their  lengthening  procession. 

These  revolutionary  acts, 

Are  of  such  quick  recurrence  ; 

Things  that  of  fraud  and  folly  smacks, 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  69 

Are  spread  broadcast  as  candid  facts, 
'Gainst  our  sincere  abhorrence. 

The  senseless  haste  is  proof  galore, 

The  Boss  does  this  desire, 

It  is  the  style  the  world  o'er 

In  every  great  Empire. 

It's  full  in  line  with  what  has  past 

In  silent  evolution, 

Whichever  side  one's  eyes  are  cast, 

Is  seen  (however  long  'twill  last) 

The  Schemer 's  Revolution  I  ! 


GONE  MONEY   MAD 


/"^ORRUPT  civil  service,  all  true  men  deplore, 
V_>     Its  fetid  condition  was  ne'er  known  before. 
The  trust  lords  are  setting  examples  so  bad 
That  all  the  weak-minded  have  gone  money-mad, 
They  see  how  these  schemers  grow  wealthy  by  craft, 
And  catch  the  wide-spread  epidemic  for  graft, 
Abetted  and  aided  by  newly  made  law 
Enacted  for  them  without  loop-hole  or  flaw. 

And  even  the  one  law  that  somehow  slipped  through 
In  aid  of  the  people,  is  shelved  out  of  view  ; 
This  law  that  would  somewhat  the  trust  barons  fetter 
High  up  on  the  shelf  has  become  a  dead  letter. 

Seeing  which  the  weak-minded  who  handles  much 

cash; 

Says  "  I'll  take  a  little,  but  will  not  be  rash, 
I  see  the  big  trusts  unmolested  by  Knox 
So  I'll  try  my  hand  in  some  big  booming  stocks. 
If  I  don't  win  first,  I'll  again  try  my  luck, 
There  are  plenty  who  do  it  and  never  get  stuck 
And  if  I  get  caught  which  is  but  a  mere  chance 
I  have  a  rich  friend  who  "the  dough"  will  advance. 

I  helped  him  get  through  his  monopoly  bill 

By  methods  and  means  that  he  wants  to  keep  still." 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  71 

And  so  he  dips  into  the  big  public  purse, 

And  losing,  he  plunges  from  bad  luck  to  worse, 

He  pilfers  and  steals  till  at  length  he  gets  caught, 

Does  he  go  into  prison  as  every  thief  ought  ? 

Not  he,  through  his  friend  he's  released  on  small  bail, 

And  the  next  thing  we  hear,  he  to  Europe  sets  sail, 

Off  on  an  excursion  instead  of  to  jail ! 

This  is  a  mere  outline  of  what  is  going  on 
And  of  the  nefarious  things  that  are  done, 
Amongst  those  in  power  held  closely  together 
By  bonds  —  as  one  big  thief  is  bound  to  another. 

But  factions  of  this  sort  can  never  wax  strong 
There  is  doubt  and  distrust  through  the  group  all 

along, 

The  insurance  big  thieves  give  us  lessons  for  aye, 
To  guard  against  wealth  gained  in  this  kind  of  way. 


SINCE  WE  BECAME  A  WORLD 

POWER 

ata* 

WE  are  making  hist'ry  very  fast, 
But  not  our  old  exalted  kind, 
Since  on  imperial  seas  we're  tossed, 
We're  made  the  sport  of  every  wind  : 
We  search  for  trouble  near  and  far, 
To  see  who'll  dare  our  standard  lower, 
We  act  as  if  we  itched  for  war, 
Since  we  became  "  a  world  power." 

Let's  pause  and  see  what  we  have  done, 
Since  we  threw  off  our  "  swadling  clothes  " 
The  fights  we've  fought,  the  battles  won, 
Who  were  and  are,  our  friends  and  foes, 
What  human  wrongs  we  have  redressed, 
In  our  Knight-errant  rambling  tour, 
By  whom  we're  cursed  and  by  whom  blessed, 
Since  we  became  "  a  world  power." 

The  time  was  ripe  —  the  mounds  of  wealth 
Amassed  through  aid  of  purchased  laws, 
Had  undermined  the  public  health 
And  for  unrest  was  deepest  cause, 
The  happy  thought  —  a  war  with  Spain 
Would  dissipate  the  gathering  shower  — 
And  trusts  the  needed  time  'twould  gain, 
To  fortify  themselves  in  power. 


72 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  73 

And  so,  the  fatal  die  was  cast, 
The  thought  was  father  to  the  fact, 
They  struck  the  iron  hard  and  fast, 
Lest  coolness  might  on  them  re-act. 
Free,  bleeding  Cuba,  was  the  cry, 
They  loudly  raised  that  evil  hour, 
Uncaring  who  might  live  or  die, 
Were  they  but  fortified  in  power. 

When  Congress  had  declared  for  war, 
The  Dewey  fleet  was  at  Hong  Kong, 
And  'though  from  home  away  so  far, 
The  British  told  him,  "  move  along," 
He  had  his  choice  at  once  to  go, 
Or  else  the  stars  and  stripes  to  lower  ; 
Strange  way  was  this,  to  friendship  show 
Ere  we  became  a  world  power. 

Brave  Dewey  took  the  hint  and  left, 
And  sailed  for  fair  Manilla  Bay, 
He  made  the  voyage  smooth  and  deft, 
And  got  there  by  the  dawn  of  day ; 
The  message  he  sent  to  explain 
Was  shot  and  shell  in  deadly  shower ; 
He  pulverized  the  ships  of  Spain, 
And  we  became  a  world  power ! 

Unlike  our  so-called  "  British  friends" 
Who  ordered  Dewey  "  get  away  ;  " 
The  Filipinos  made  amends 
And  welcomed  him  to  come  and  stay. 
They  gave  him  every  aid  they  could, 
Of  their  young  men,  the  very  flower 


74  -      SONGS  AND   POEMS 

Quick  volunteered  to  shed  their  blood, 
To  aid  us  as  a  friendly  power. 

Then  England  too  forgot  her  frown, 

She  smiled  upon  us  to  our  face ; 

Though  Pauncefoote  tried  to  throw  us  down, 

She  boasted  of  the  Saxon  race  : 

That  with  the  starry-Jack  unfurled 

Both  could  all  seas  and  nation's  scour, 

And  rule  (for  plunder),  all  the  world 

For  now  we  were  world  power. 

Joe  Chamberlain  came  straight  across 
And  told  McKinley  what  to  do  ; 
He  said  'twould  be  the  world's  loss, 
Did  we  a  peaceful  course  pursue  ; 
The  re-united  Saxon  race  — 
He  said  above  all  else  would  tower, 
The  world  both  could  squarely  face 
Since  we  became  a  world  power ! 

And  so  McKinley  grabbed  the  bait, 
As  his  advisers  bade  him  do  ; 
Urged  on,  and  on  by  tempting  fate, 
Scarce  knowing  what  he  had  in  view ; 
The  Filipinos  were  betrayed, 
Lest  English  "  friendship  "  we  should  sour, 
We've  lost  ten  friends  for  one  we  made, 
Since  we  became  a  world  power  ! 

When  England  got  us  tangled  in 
The  Filipino,  cruel  war, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  75 

At  once  herself  did  straight  begin, 
To  slaughter  and  to  rob  the  Boer. 
But  had  she  and  the  Boer  been  left 
Unaided,  rifle  shot  to  shower, 
The  Boer  had  England's  army  cleft — 
We  saved  her,  as  a  world  power  ! 

We  sold  her  all  sorts  of  supplies, 
Which  would  be  contraband  of  war, 
Did  we  see  with  half  opened  eyes, 
What  all  the  mules  and  stuff  were  for; 
From  its  high,  bright,  etherial  plane, 
Our  flag  to  her's  we  had  to  lower  — 
We  bought  the  Philipines  from  Spain, 
To  be  with  her  a  world  power ! 

And  so  the  tragedy  went  on, 

And  so  it's  going  on  to-day, 

Two  young  republics  out  have  gone  — 

But  England  has  the  debt  to  pay ! 

And  we  too,  in  the  Philipines  — 

At  our  job-lot  begin  to  cower  ; 

Halt !  Count  the  cost,  in  lives  and  means, 

Since  we  became  "  a  world  power  !  " 


PRESERVE  OLD  CONSTITUTION 


AIR  —  YANKEE  DOODLE. 

BONIE  "  came  to  Boston  town, 
To  view  old  Constitution  ; 
To  make  her  target  —  shoot  her  down, 

He  formed  a  resolution  ; 
But  this  aroused  red  patriot  blood, 

When  put  in  circulation, 
And  "  Bonie  "  since,  its  understood, 
Has  food  for  mediation. 

REFRAIN. 

Brave  Uncle  Sam  won't  let  this  man, 

Work  out  his  resolution, 
John  Bull  alone  would  like  his  plan 

To  sink  old  Constitution. 

Old  Uncle  Sam  does  not  forget, 

The  Levant  and  Cyen-e  ; 
Nor  how  the  grand  old  frigate  met 

And  conquered  the  Guirer-e  — 
Those  were  sea  fights  that  tried  men's  souls, 

John  Bull's  ships  in  confusion, 
Were  sent  ashore  on  rocks  and  shoals, 

By  staunch  old  Constitution. 

Refrain. 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  77 

Built  here  and  launched  in  Boston  Town, 

Here  still  Bostonians  claim  her, 
Though  Bonaparte  says,  shoot  her  down, 

The  English  couldn't  maim  her ; 
No  ship  has  sailed,  near  or  remote, 

More  honor  to  a  nation  ; 
Then,  keep  old  Ironsides  afloat, 

For  youth's  high  inspiration. 

Refrain. 


PART   TWO 

VOLUME  I 


LINES  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

PATRICK   A.   COLLINS 


ALL  Boston  is  deeply  o'erwhelmed  with  grief  — 
She  has   lost   her  great  Mayor,  —  her  people 

their  chief. 

Not  alone  in  the  city  —  through  Nation  and  State 
And  his  dear  Native  Ireland,  there's  grief  of  such 

weight, 

That,  political  lines,  —  lines  of  creed  and  of  race, 
Are  all  wiped  out  so  cleanly,  there  is  left  not  a  trace  ; 
With  heart-felt  regret,  o'er  his  cold  silent  bier, 
All,  soulfully,  prayerfully,  drop  a  sad  tear. 

Yes  !  Patrick  A.  Collins  has  gone  to  his  rest  : 
His  ambition  in  life  was  to  make  better,  best  ; 
The  task  he  assumed,  he  has  faithfully  done, 
Life's  battle  is  over  —  bright  victory  won. 
Who  can  detract  from  his  well-earned  fame  ? 
Who  —  point  a  blemish  or  spot  on  his  name  ? 
The  man  isn't  born  that  he  ever  deceived, 
Nor   the   man    that    through   his    fault,    was   ever 
aggrieved. 

He  stood  firm  as  a  rock  for  the  right  against  wrong 
With  fairplay  as  his  motto,  through  all  his  life,  long  — 
For  all  that  was  good,  against  all  low  and  mean, 
With  a  soul  and  a  conscience  inherently  clean. 


82  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

Unshaded  by  semblance  of  envy  or  guile, 
His  wit,  mirth-provoking,  caused  cynics  to  smile  :  — 
Dame  Nature  —  God's  hand-maid,  —  through  char- 
acter ran, 
Selecting  high  traits  for  this  self-cultured  man. 

From  whom  much  is  given — much  shall  be  required,'' 
Did  not  Patrick  Collins  give  what's  here  desired  ?  — 
Faith,  deep  and  abiding  —  good  works  —  all  through 

life, 

Love  of  God  and  of  neighbor  —  of  children  and  wife  : 
Holding  sinister,  underhand  methods,  in  scorn, 
Hands  as  clean  at  his  death,  as  the  day  he  was  born  ; 
He  gave  these,  and  much  more,  of  what  to  him  was 

given  — 
Faith,  hope  and  good  works,  mark  the  pathway  to 

Heaven. 

Our  Lord  having  called  the  pure  spirit  He  gave, 
Kindly  lay  the  remains  in  a  Holyhood  grave ; 
There  let  them  rest  near  the  city  he  loved, 
In  the  state  where  his  words  and  his  work  stand 

approved. 

His  native  land  Erin,  is  weeping  today  — 
Yearning  with  this  land,  due  homage  to  pay, 
To  the  boy-genius,  rudely  exiled  from  her  breast, 
'Mongst  the  millions  she  gave,  this  great  land  of  the 

West. 


WELCOME  TO   DOUGLAS    HYDE 


AIR  —  THE   BELLS  OF  SHANDON 

WITH  bright  hopes  beaming, 
Not  sadly  seeming, 
Nor  idly  dreaming 

But,  through  earnest  toil ; 
The,  Irisii  tongue, 
Blooming  fresh  and  young, 
Is  being  writ  and  sung 

On  the  Irish  soil : 
'T  was,  so  long  idle 
Bound  —  bit  and  bridle, 
It  bore  the  title 

Of  tongue  that  died  ; 
Yet,  'twas  but  sleeping, 
Or,  vigil  keeping, 
'Till  found  while  seeking, 
By  Douglas  Hyde. 

This  great  revival, 
In  matters  lingual, 
Has  had  no  rival  — 

It  is  so  grand, 
'Twould  seem  designed, 
By  our  Maker's  mind, 

•The  old  Irish  language  is  coming  back  to  the  Irish  people  at 
the  same  time  they  are  getting  back  their  land.  The  next  step  will 
be  Home  Rule. 


84  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

The  old  tongue  to  find, 

* To  come  with  the  land 

He  tried  our  patience, 
With  sore  privations, 
Through  all  vexations  — 

—  Found  true  when  tried  : 
So  now  to  ease  us, 
He's  going  to  please  us  — 
Our  tongue  release  us, 
Through  Douglas  Hyde. 

The  proud  invader, 
And  spoliator, 
Denounced  him  traitor, 

Who  wouldn't  yield 
To  his  dictation  — 
Throughout  the  nation ; 
No  occupation 

Could  true-men  shield  : 
The  tongue  then  spoken, 
Was  English,  broken 
With  scarce  a  token, 

Of  Irish  pride, 
But,  now  his  bearla, 
Gives  place  to  gaelga  ; 
Biachs  lath  a  Hierna  ! 

'Gus  Douglas  Hyde. 

We  Irish  out-spread 
Through  all  Creation 
In  every  Nation 
The  Irish  tongue : 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  85 

Will  be  kept  wagging 
Not  Idly  bragging 
Nor  meanly  nagging 

'Bout  evils  done. 
Our  voices  raising, 
The  Almighty  praising, 
Praying  that  His  graces 

With  us  abide  — 
Fond  hearts  requited, 
By  seas  divided, 
Will  act  united 

With  Douglas  Hyde. 

Here,  president  Roosevelt, 
The  welcome  news  felt, 
His  strenuous  muse  dwelt 

On  Irish  lore  ; 
A  people's  language, 
Released  from  bondage, 
Free  from  brigandage 

For  evermore ! 
Was,  so  appealing, 
To  his  own  square  dealing, 
His  generous  feeling 

Was  opened  wide  ; 
From  warm  heart-beating, 
He  sent  his  greeting, 
To  have  a  meeting, 

With  Douglas  Hyde. 

To  far-famed  Boston, 
Whence  tyrants  passed  on, 


86  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Their  last  look  cast  on 

Then  stole  away  ; 
When  Washington, 
Sent  them  on  the  run 
By  the  rise  of  sun 

On  Saint  Patrick's  day  : 
For  Erin's  language, 
Redeemed  from  bondage ; 
A  great  advantage 

To  Erin's  pride ; 
We  are  glad  we  sought  you, 
In  friendship  brought  you 
Cead  milla  failte 

Lath,  Douglas  Hyde ! 


LATEST  VERSION   OF  THE 

SHAN    VAN    VOCHT 

OR 

Queen  Victoria's  Recruiting  Trip  to  Ireland 

Air :   The  Shan  Van  Vocht 
MOB 

YOU  have  heard  of  old  Queen  Vic, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
Her  late  capers  make  her  sick 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
In  her  war  against  the  Boer, 
Irish  fools  had  suffered  sore, 
Then  she  came  to  get  some  more 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

'Twas  a  shameful  sight  to  see, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

After  all  she's  done  to  me, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

In  no  land  beneath  the  sun, 

Has  such  heartless  things  been  done, 

Since  her  cruel  reign  begun, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

Away  back  in  forty  five, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

(Its  a  woundher  I'm  alive) 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 


SONGS   AND   POEMS 

I  had  most  two  million  sons, 
Fit  to  march  and  shoulder  guns, 
But  from  home  they  had  to  run 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

In  forty  seven  and  forty  eight, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

England  made  a  famine  great, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 

She  took  off  her  oats  and  whate, 

Our  sweet  butther,  eggs  and  mate 

An  left  little  we  could  ate 

Says  the  Shan  Vocht. 

Vic  did  not  come  then  nor  send, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 

As  a  ruler  or  a  friend, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 

Hunger,  sickness  and  despair, 

You  could  feel  them  in  the  air, 

But  one  rap  she  didn't  care 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

When  the  filthy  London  Times, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
Adding  to  its  other  crimes, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
Bragged  how  the  Irish  ran  away, 
"  With  a  vengeance  "  day  by  day, 
And  prayed  that  they  long  might  stay, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht.  — 

This  same  heartless  British  Queen, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  89 

Though  then  young,  was  just  as  mean, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
She  once  never  raised  a  hand, 
But  to  send  an  armed  band, 
To  evict  them  from  their  land, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

So,  for  over  fifty  years, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
I  have  scarcely  dhried  my  tears, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht 
All  those  years  they  dhrove  away, 
My  brave  sons  across  the  say, 
But  they  want  them  bad  to-day, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

When  the  grand  heroic  Boer, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
Frightened  England  to  the  core, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ; 
They  all,  with  their  famine  queen 
Wore  the  outlawed  Irish  Green, 
'Twas  the  quarest  sight  I've  seen, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

'Twas  chape  blarney  nothing  more, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
To  get  men  to  fight  the  Boer, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
But  although  she  lost  her  shame 
My  young  men  saw  through  her  game, 
And  she  went  back  as  she  came, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht 


90  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

There  is  freedom  in  the  air, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
England  wallows  in  despair, 

Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht, 
Though  my  sons  are  much  reduced 
Irish  chicks  come  home  to  roost, 
They'll  give  freedom  yet  a  boost, 
Says  the  Shan  Van  Vocht. 

If  Queen  Victoria  was  the  great  queen  she  is  represented  to  be, 
in  the  silly  slobber  over  her  remains  since  her  death,  she  could 
have  prevented  the  Boer  war,  she  could  have  prevented  the  peri- 
odical (English-made)  famines  in  Ireland  and  India.  One-fourth 
of  what  it  has  cost  to  rob  the  Boers  would  have  saved  the  millions 
that  have  starv  d  to  death  in  India,  not  to  mention  the  tremendous 
loss  of  life.  Well  may  she  be  called  the  famine  queen  of  history. 

In  this  ballad,  Ireland  is  represented  as  a  poor  but  proud  old 
woman  who  although  robbed  of  everything,  including  her  children, 
still  holds  up  her  head  and  gives  her  reasons  for  refusing  to  aid 
and  assist  her  robbers  in  killing  and  robbing  the  Boers. 


SONG  OF  WELCOME 


To  Very  Rev.  Mons.  O'Callaghan,  on  his  return  from  a  visit  to 
Ireland. 

FROM  that  Isle  where  the  hand  of  the  stranger, 
Has  long  dealt  out  direful  distress  ; 
Whose  rule  has  brought  turmoil  and  danger, 

Who  curses  where  Heaven  would  bless  : 
From  that  land  where  'midst  sorrow  and  sadness, 

Her  sons  hope  for  liberty  soon, 
With  hearts  full  of  joy  and  of  gladness 

We  welcome  you  Soggarth  Aroon  1 

CHORUS  : 

We  bid  you  a  cead  mille  faulthia, 

You  say  by  the  signs  which  you  saw, 

That,  soon  we  can  toast  a  bright  slaunthia 
To  freedom,  in  Erin-go-Bragh  ! 

What  word  from  the  long-drawn-out  battle  ? 

Oh  !    Can  it  be  true  what  they  tell  ? 
That  people  fare  better  than  cattle  ? 

We  sqw  them  not  treated  as  well  ! 
For  their  rights  do  they  keep  up  insistence, 

As  firmly  as  when  they  begun  ; 
If  so,  they  shall  have  our  assistance 

'Till  Home-Rule  with  peace  shall  be  won.    * 

Chorus. 


92  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Are  all  Erin's  people  united, 

Or  do  they  keep  bickering  still  ? 
Great  grievances  never  are  righted 

But  by  the  majority  will ! 
To  bury  distrust  and  dissension 

And  yield  to  majority  rule, 
Is  the  honest  unselfish  intention 

First  taught  in  sweet  liberty's  school. 

Chorus. 

Send  word  to  our  brethren  in  Ireland, 

That,  though  we  were  driven  away, 
No  hearts  beat  more  loyal  to  sireland, 

Than  our  hearts  are  beating  to-day. 
Having  tasted  the  blessings  of  freedom, 

We  beg  them  drop  trifles  that  jar ; 
Then,  by  all  the  signs  as  you  read  'em 

Their  day  of  relief  isn't  far. 

Chorus. 

Let  them  not  relax  agitation 

But  keep  at  it  "  hammer  and  tongs  ;  " 
We  —  scattered  through  every  nation, 

Can  well  advertise  Erin's  wrongs 
Once,  England  could  work  in  a  corner, 

Her  deeds  to  the  world  unknown, 
But  henceforth  we  solemnly  warn  her, 

Her  acts  will  be  everywhere  shown. 

Chorus. 

Again  Very  Reverend  Father 

With  friendship  sincere  and  galore, 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  93 

Your  friends  and  parishioners  gather 

To  tender  you  welcome  once  more  ; 

Did  all  emulate  your  example, 

Despite  Johnny  Bull's  penal  laws, 

Soon  Erin  would  show,  for  a  sample 

A  code  free  from  Sasanach  flaws. 

Chorus. 


THE  OLD    FENIAN'S  ADDRESS   TO 
HIS  NEW  REPEATING  RIFLE 

MM* 

BE-DAD  you  are  a  dandy  piece 
Your  likes  I  never  saw, 
Right  soon  would  Erin's  trouble  cease 

Well  rid  of  England's  law, 
If  every  whole-souled  Irishman  ; 
(But  not  the  crawling  few  ;) 
Were  bound  to  work  the  one  true  plan, 
Each  armed  with  such  as  you, 

My  pet, 
Each  armed  with  such  as  you  ! 

When  first  I  learned  to  hit  the  mark 

'Twas  with  an  old  Queen  Anne, 
With  big  flint-lock  that  struck  a  spark 

To  powder  in  the  pan  ; 
But,  human  skill  has  been  at  work, 

John  Bull  might  well  feel  blue 
If  all,  from  Donegal  to  Cork, 

Once  owned  a  beaut,  like  you, 
My  pet, 

Once  owned  a  beaut  like  you  ! 

I  have  been  listening  all  my  life 

To  eloquence  most  grand, 
'Bout  ways  and  means  to  end  the  strife 

In  my  loved  native  land  ; 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  96 

And  now  drawing  near  my  closing  days 

I  take  a  backward  view  ; 
I  see  that  tyrants  mock  old  ways 

But  dread  a  crack  from  you, 
My  pet, 

But  dread  a  crack  from  you  ! 

The  times  are  changing  very  fast 

Invention's  rising  tide, 
Makes  what  was  best  a  few  years  past 

Now,  rubbish  cast  aside  : 
Electric  shocks  may  yet,  perhaps, 

Displace  the  rifle  too, 
But  'till  that  day  we  Irish  chaps, 

Must  learn  to  shoot  with  you, 
My  pet, 

Must  learn  to  shoot  with  you  ! 

In  blood,  the  Boers  have  writ  a  page 

Of  glorious  human  history, 
That  points,  in  this  inventive  age, 

The  path  to  human  liberty  ; 
They  talk  not  much,  but  just  enough 

To  make  men  dare  and  do ; 
The  bravest  soldiers  give  least  "  guff," 

They  talk  through  such  as  you, 
My  pet. 

They  talk  through  such  as  you  ! 

You  may,  perchance,  be  rusty  yet, 
'Though  now  so  bright  and  clean, 

But  while  I  live,  my  trusty  pet, 
No  man  shall  use  you  mean  : 


96  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

Through  your  small  bore  there  goes  a  pill, 
Projected  straight  and  true, 

That  bends  the  sternest  tyrant's  will, 
Who'd  bend  alone  to  you, 

My  pet, 
Who'd  bend  alone  to  you  ! 

I  know  your  voice  is  hard  and  sharp 

And  dreaded  by  mankind  ; 
But  musical  as  Erin's  harp 

On  duty,  well  defined  : 
When  rulers  in  this  wondrous  age, 

Act  bad  as  fiends  can  do ; 
The  common  people  must  engage 

Strong  pleaders  such  as  you, 
My  pet, 

Strong  pleaders  such  as  you  ! 

I  don't  advise  to  kill  a  fly 

Through  malice  or  through  spite  ; 
But,  wholesale  robbers  when  they  try, 

Like  burglars  in  the  night, 
The  people's  hard-earned  wealth  to  loot 

And  tax  them  for  it  too  ; 
Then,  every  man  should  learn  to  shoot, 

And  own  a  piece  like  you, 
My  pet, 

And  own  a  piece  like  you  ! 

Peaceful  agitation  has 

Been  tried  time-out-of-mind, 

But  every  gain  effected  was 
By  means  of  another  kind  ; 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  97 

England  likes  peace  measures  well, 

Talk  tells  her  what  to  do, 
But  dreads,  the  world  now  can  tell, 

To  face  the  likes  of  you, 
My  pet, 

To  face  the  likes  of  you  ! 

Then,  Irishmen  each  other  trust, 

Drop  all  dissension  now, 
A  man  to  raise  a  crop,  at  first 

Must  dig,  or  hold  the  plow  : 
So,  if  you'd  reap  fair  Freedom's  fruit, 

The  proper  thing  to  do, 
Is ;  get  a  rifle  ;  learn  to  shoot, 

As  I  am  doing  with  you, 
My  pet. 

As  I  am  doing  with  you  1 " 


HAIL  TO  THEE,  ERIN 

MM* 

HAIL !  to  thee  Erin,  bright  Isle  of  the  sea, 
Thy  children  in  all  lands  turn  fondly  to  thee  ; 
Wherever  we  wander,  though  distant  we  roam, 
We  lovingly  hail  thee  our  dear  island  home  : 
'Though  the  heel  of   the  tyrant  may  tread  on  thy 

breast, 

And  force  off  thy  children  who  love  thee  the  best ; 
Unchanging  we  cherish  wherever  we  be, 
Next  to  service  of  God,  fond  affection  for  thee. 

Hail !  to  thee  Erin,  bright  Isle  of  the  sea, 
'Though  thou  art  in  bondage  thy  children  are  free ; 
Free  from  murder  for  plunder,  from  arson,  from  fraud, 
In  a  word,  from  the  crimes  thy  oppressors  applaud. 
For  freedom  of  conscience  and  worship  we  stand, 
Not  only  for  thee,  but  for  every  land  ; 
You  taught  us  dear  Mother,  wherever  we  go, 
To  brand  every  tyrant  as  liberty's  foe. 

Hail !  to  thee  Erin,  when  God  sees  the  time, 

To  rid  thee  of  sasanach  bondage  and  crime  ; 

A  glorious  sight  to  all  mankind  'twill  be, 

To  see  thee  contented,  blest,  happy  and  free. 

Thy  children  for  centuries  sorely  oppressed, 

Will  spring  from  their  chains  as  if  rising  from  rest, 

With  love  for  all  mankind,  with  malice  for  none  ; 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  can  thy  grandeur  be  shown. 


EMMET'S    GRAVE 

MM* 

Written  for  and  read  at  the  Emmet  Centennial  Anniversary 
Supper  given  by  the  Montgomery  Associates,  Waltham,  March  4, 
1878. 

Far  from  our  native  home  to-night,  dear  brothers, 
we  have  met, 
What  drove  us  from  our  native  land,  we  never  can 

forget ; 
But  though   three  thousand  miles  from  home,  our 

hearts  are  o'er  the  wave, 

And  linger  long  and  lovingly  'round  Robert  Emmet's 
grave. 

Six  millions  of  our  kindred  have  been  scattered  o'er 

the  earth, 
And  some  six  millions  more  are  in  the  land  that  gave 

them  birth  ; 

And  all  this  mighty  multitude  at  home  or  off  afar, 
Tonight  will  look  to  Emmet's  name,  as  to  a  guiding 

star. 

They'll  rally  'round  the  Old  Green  Flag,  that  flag  he 

loved  so  well, 
And  stories  of  his  grand    career  exultingly  they'll 

tell; 
Indignant  thoughts  will  flush  the  brow,  of  all  except 

the  slave, 
To  think  the  tomb   is  uninscribed  that  stands  o'er 

Emmet's  grave. 

w 


100  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

What  is  it  keeps  our  native  land  bound  down  in  ser- 
vile chains  ? 

It  is  not  lack  of  energy  nor  is  it  lack  of  brains; 

'Tis  want  of  unity  alone,  dear  Erin,  keeps  thee  so, 

Bound  hand  and  foot,  and  crushed  beneath  thy  heart- 
less English  foe. 

Then  let  us  all  in  spirit,  visit  Emmet's  grave  to-night, 
And  following  his  example,  bury  self  deep  out  of 

sight ; 
For  a  more  disinterested  heart,  our  Maker  never 

gave, 
Than  the  noble  gen'rous,  manly  heart,  that  rests  in 

Emmet's  grave. 

Let's  kneel  down  on  that  hallowed  ground  and  raise 

our  hands  on  high, 

And  there  record  a  solemn  vow,  to  conquer,  or  to  die  ; 
And  mean  must  be  that  Irishman,  a  poltroon  and  a 

knave, 
Who   will    refuse   to   make   such  vow   o'er  Robert 

Emmet's  grave. 

Oh  !  could  our  gallant  Emmet  now  arise  up  from  his 

rest, 

And  see  the  star  of  liberty  that's  rising  in  the  east, 
How  eagerly  he'd  grasp  his  sword,  unheeding  toil  or 

pain, 
He'd  freely  risk  his  noble  life  for  freedom  once  again! 

But  though  he's  gone,  we  still  have  those  on  whom 

we  can  depend, 
Men  built  from  firm  unflinching  stock  that  ne'er  was 

known  to  bend  ; 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  101 

Persevering,  energetic,  vigilant  and  brave, 
They'll  soon  write  Emmet's  epitaph  and  place  it  o'er 
his  grave. 

Exhortation, 

Ye  men  of  Irish  blood  and  brains, 
Why  lie  so  still  in  servile  chains  ? 
Behold  your  native  hills  and  plains 

In  the  hands  of  the  tyrant  stranger ! 
Then,  why  so  idly  fold  your  arms  ? 
Prepare  for  hostile  loud  alarms, 
Those  who  would  win  fair  Freedom's  charms, 
Must  never  think  of  danger. 

The  scourge,  the  rack,  the  chains,  the  tears, 
The  lies  and  insults,  scoffs  and  sneers, 
Of  seven  hundred  weary  years, 

We've  hoarded  like  a  treasure ; 
And  Oh  !  may  Heaven  speed  the  day, 
And  send  us  too,  the  means  and  way, 
This  most  enormous  debt  to  pay, 

With  full  unstinted  measure. 

Look  o'er  the  earth,  through  every  clime, 
Look  back  to  the  earliest  dawn  of  time, 
You'll  find  extolled  in  prose  and  rhyme, 

Those  patriots  and  sages  ; 
Who  never  from  tyrants  turned  aside, 
Who  have  for  freedom  fought  and  died, 
Their  country's  boast,  the  world's  pride, 

They'll  live  through  endless  ages. 


102  SONGS  AND  POEMS 

And,  in  that  temple  built  for  Fame, 
High  up,  Oh  !  Emmet  is  thy  name, 
Thy  country's  pride,  proud  Albion's  shame, 

The  world  knows  thy  story  ; 
Those  yet  unborn,  will  love  thee  well, 
With  flashing  eyes  thy  fate  they'll  tell, 
When  England's  crimes  look  black  as  H-ll  ! 

Thy  fame  will  shine  in  glory ! 


THERE'S   A   BRIGHT   GLEAM 
OF   HOPE 


AIR  —  GARRYOWEN. 

THERE'S  a.  bright  gleam  of  hope  'mongst  the 
people  of  Earth, 

An  out-burst  of  joy  and  of  heart-raising  mirth, 
Of  sadness  and  sorrow  a  notable  dearth, 

Peace  is  made  between  two  warring  Nations. 
All  mankind  stood  awe-stricken,  deeply  in  doubt 
That  peace  loving  Teddy  could  bring  it  about  ; 
But  now  all  re-echo  a  sky-piercing  shout 

For  his  foresight,  his  tact  and  his  patience. 

REFRAIN. 

Then,  hurrah  for  brave  Teddy,  who  never  knew 

fear, 

To  fight  he  is  ready,  when  peace  isn't  near. 
All  now  know  he's  steady  and  truly  sincere, 
The  world's  high  pacificator. 

The  Czar  his  high  prestage  and  pride  to  defend 
Was  fully  determined  to  fight  to  the  end. 
The  Mikado  —  victor,  of  course  wouldn't  bend 

To  be  the  first  peace  supplicator. 
Then,  Teddy  by  planning  the  way  to  release 
The  heavenly  messenger  —  white  dove  of  peace, 


104  SONGS  AND  POEMS 

Bidding  hell-born  war  and  its  carnage  to  cease, 
Became  the  world's  peace  educator. 

Refrain. 

When  the  coal  barons  'rose  in  their  arrogant  pride, 
With   the  law  and  the  courts  and  vast  wealth  on 

their  side, 
And  boastfully  popular  protest  defied, 

Then,  Teddy  first  played  mediator. 
Some  thought  him  too  easy,  some  thought  him  too 

rough, 

Some  said  it  was  merely  political  bluff ; 
But  now  all  believe  he's  the  right  kind  of  stuff. 
The  world's  fair-play  propogator ! 

Refrain. 

There's  a  war  nearer  home,  old,  aye  hoary  from  age,* 
Fanned  by  religious  rancor  and  plundering  rage, 
Employing  such  weapons  as  fiends  would  engagef 

To  persecute  God-loving  people. 
Here  a  great  mediator,  experienced  and  wise, 
For  a  square-dealing  peace,  long  deferred,  can  arise 
A  peace,  making  this  one  look  small  in  men's  eyes. 
'Twould  be  rung  out  from  belfry  and  steeple. 

Refrain. 

»  The  war  that  England  has  forced  on  Ireland  for  over  seven 
centuries. 

t  See  Wendall  Phillip's  lecture  on  Daniel  O'Connell. 


ANSWER    TO    THE    HARP    THAT 
ONCE  THROUGH   TARA'S   HALL 


THAT  Irish  harp  that  hangs  asleep, 
On  Tara's  honored  wall  ; 
Soon  time  to  freedom's  notes  shall  keep, 

Responsive  to  her  call  ; 
Then  shall  be  heard  such  magic  strains, 

As  ne'er  were  heard  before  ; 
When  landlord  graft  and  castle  chains 
Are  heard  of  never  more. 

If  not  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright, 

The  Irish  harp  notes  swell  ; 
For  all  the  people's  keen  delight, 

Will  answer  just  as  well  ; 
Fair  freedom  too,  is  wide  awake, 

'Round  Erin'a  sea-girt  shore  ; 
And  tyranny  begins  to  quake, 

As  ne'er  it  did  before. 

Those  "  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  praise," 

Pulsated  not  in  vain  ; 
In  foreign  lands,  o'er  many  seas, 

That  pulse  is  felt  again  : 
Here,  in  fair  freedom's  cradle  land, 

Where  liberty  was  born  ; 
Their  kith  and  kin,  in  forefront  stand 

And  highest  ranks  adorn. 


LINES  TO  THE   MEMORY  OF 

GEORGE    FRISBY    HOAR 


Written  for,  but  not  ready  at,  the  A.  O.  H.  Memorial  Meeting  in 
Faneuil  Hall, 

/^NBEDIENT  to  duty  —  at  gratitude's  call, 

V-/    We  have  met  here  to-night  in  Old  Faneuil  Hall  ; 

A  deep  debt  of  honor  and  homage  to  pay 

To  one  who  too  soon  has  been  summoned  away. 

No  need  for  laudation  —  no  call  for  loud  praise  ; 

His  story  is  written  in  truth's  shining  rays  ; 

Can  poet,  or  painter,  or  sculptor  do  more 

Than  point  to  the  life-work,  of  George  Frisbie  Hoar  ? 

An  attempt  to  describe  or  recite  as  it  ought  ; 
His  record,  in  any  one,  high  line  of  thought  ; 
Would  fall  so  far  short  of  his  splendid  career, 
T'would  make  highest  tribute,  ludicrous  appear. 

Then,  all  who  love  truth  and  untrammelled  fairplay, 
Join  with  A.O.H.  in  his  homage  to-day. 
Who  would  be  true  patriots,  need  do  no  more, 
Than  tread  in  the  paths  marked  by  George  Frisbie 
Hoar! 

In  this  age  of  graft  and  of  scheming  for  pelf, 
When  the  rule  —  not  exception  —  is,  each  for  himself  ; 
The  whole  trust  graft-grabbers  with  all  their  vast  store; 
Would  be  light  in  the  balance  'gainst  George  Frisbie 
Hoar. 


KEEP  UP  ERIN'S  CAUSE 


Dedicated  to  President  Roosevelt  —  PEACE  MAKER 

Why  may  he  not,  as  representative  of  Uncle  Sam,  call  a  halt  in 
the  ruthless  war  of  spoliation  and  extermination  for  centuries 
waged  against  the  Irish  people  by  John  Bull  —  Uncle  Sam's  would 
be  ally  and  friend,  invoking  a  "  square  deal  "  for  faithful,  uncon- 
querable, long-suffering  Ireland. 

AIR  —  RORY  O'MoRE 

KEEP  up  Erin's  cause  —  it  has  come  to  us  down 
For  ages  the  conflict  of  highest  renown  ; 
Eight  centuries  striving  to  get  a  "  square  deal  " 
Fires  each  generation  with  patriot  zeal 
Keep  up  the  great  strife,  like  our  father's  before, 
The  longer  the  contest,  we  love  it  the  more  ; 
As  a  legacy  handed  from  father  to  son, 
It's  more  sacred  to-day,  than  the  day  it  begun  ! 

CHORUS. 

Then,  Irishmen  —  brothers  —  wherever  we  be, 
In  all  foreign  lands  —  or  this  land  of  the  free, 
Let  us  all  stand  together  with  patriot  zeal, 
And  gain  for  our  land  a  Rooseveltian  deal. 

Our  peace-loving  President  —  wonderful  man  ! 
Made  peace  between  Russia  and  fighting  Japan  ; 
He  now  can  consistently  follow  his  hand, 
And  peace  for  old  Erin  can  by  him  be  planded. 
A  war  for  extortion  and  all  that's  unjust, 
Enforced  emigration,  and  all  things  accursed 


108  SONGS  AND   POEMS 

Has  been  waged  on  Erin  for  centuries  past ; 
Brave,  square-dealing  Teddy  can  end  it  at  last. 

Chorus. 

John  Redmond  has  proved  himself  fitted  to  lead, 
In  personal  courage  and  practical  deed  ; 
In  intellect  brilliant,  in  language  sublime, 
He  has  been  well  chosen  the  man  for  the  time. 
Let  all  Erin's  sons,  as  she  proudly  demands, 
Stand  firmly  behind  him  and  strengthen  his  hands ; 
Then,  with  one  great  turn  of  the  popular  wheel, 
We'll  wring  from  John  Bull  a  Rooseveltian  deal ! 

Chorus. 

Keep  up  the  good  work  —  long  and  sad  are  the  years 
Since  forced  from  our  dear  native  country  in  tears. 
But  distance  or  time  does  not  weaken  our  love, 
Nor  our  hate  for  the  tyrants  that  forced  us  to  move. 
How  little  they  thought,  when  they  drove  us  away, 
We'd  stand  as  hindrance  before  them  some  day  — 
While  Erin  is  forced  to  wear  tyranny's  chain 
John  Bull  will  seek  Uncle  Sam's  friendship  in  vain  ! 

Chorus. 

Though  fault-finders  haggle  and  tyranny  frown, 
Keep  up  Erin's  cause  —  let  it  never  run  down. 
Her  bright  torch  of  liberty,  always  aflame, 
Adds  laurels  anew  to  her  historic  fame. 
Let's  always  her  high  public  spirit  maintain, 
Till  she,  disenthralled,  can  come  forward  again, 
The  nation  that  God  had  designed  her  to  be, 
Like  America  —  Land  of  the  Brave  and  the  Free ! 

Chorus. 


ANSWER  TO  THE  WEARING  OF 
THE   GREEN 

MN0 

AIR  —  THE  WEARING  OF  .THE  GREEM 

SAY,  have  you  heard  the  joyous  news  borne  here 
on  every  gale  ? 
It   comes   from   dear  old   Erin,  sent  by  brave   old 

Granuwale  ! 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  now  well  they  keep,  in  Ireland 

all  'round, 
The  Shamrock,  too,  is  free  to  grow  on  every  foot  of 

ground. 
The  ghosts  of  Napper  Tandy,  Robert  Emmet  and 

the  rest 
Who  gave  their  lives  for  Ireland,  still  hover  o'er  her 

breast. 
The  manly  bearing  they  inspire  can  on  each  face  be 

seen; 
No  more  shall  men  and  women  hang  for  the  wearing 

of  the  green, 

No  more  shall  any  Irishman  bow  down  an  abject 
head ; 

No  longer  must  he  cringe  and  fawn,  and  wear  the 
English  red. 

And  here,  in  greater  Ireland,  across  the  foamy  sea 

The  Irish  race  to  God  alone  bend  down  the  suppliant 
knee. 

When  England  drove  us  from  our  homes,  with  heart- 
less tyrant  hand, 

m 


110  SONGS  AND  POEMS 

To  seek  a  mother's  welcome  in  a  free  and  friendly 

land ; 
She  dreamt  not  that  the  day  would  dawn,  or  ever 

could  be  seen, 

When  England's  cruel  red  would  pale  before  the 
Irish  green. 

And  now  this  word  of  warning  to  old  Johnny  Bull  we 

send : 

Before  he  can  have  Uncle  Sam  as  ally  or  as  friend ; 
The  Irish  must  own  every  foot  of  Erin's  shamrock 

sod, 
And  bend  the  knee  to  no  landlord,  but  to  the  Lord 

their  God. 

When  Johnny  Bull  will  cease  to  play  the  "bloomin'  " 

tyrant  fool, 
And  yields  all  this  to  Ireland,  and  with  it  full  Home 

Rule. 
That  day,  perhaps,  but  not  till  then,  may  Uncle  Sam 

be  seen, 

In  treaty  with  the  English  red  against  the  Irish  green. 

ENCORE    VERSE. 

If  Uncle  Sam  desires  to  expand  his  wide  domain, 

Why  go  to  far-off  Philippines  and  purchase  them 
of  Spain  ? 

Why  slaughter  Filipinos  who  their  country  but 
defend, 

And  pass  long-suffering  Erin,  where  they'd  hail  him 
as  a  friend  ? 

All  Sam  would  there  require  would  be  simply  ways 
and  means, 

A  tenth  of  all  he  squandered  in  the  far-off  Philip- 
pines. 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  111 

There  isn't  in  all  Ireland  an  Irishman  so  mean 
As  not  to  fly  the  stars  and  stripes  beside  the  flag 

of  green,     or 

Sam  wouldn't  meet  an  enemy  in  Erin's  Isle  at  all, 
They'd  fall  in  line  from  rebel  Cork  to  "  fardown  " 
Donegal ! 


MY  BREIDEKN  COTHA  MOHR* 
am? 

AIR — "PAD  THE  ROAD  WITH  ME." 

In  my  boyish  days  in  Ireland,  a  man  was  not  considered  "  well 
clad  "  unless  he  owned  a  "  great  coat"  or  cotha  mohr,  which  was 
usually  made  of  frieze.  This  frieze  is  manufactured  from  fleece 
wool,  no  waste  nor  shoddy  being  used,  and  is  very  durable,  and 
literally  water-proof.  He  who  spun  the  song  has  spun  and  woven 
this  frieze  in  the  little  Isle  so  green,  and  landed  on  these  shores  in 
1854,  with  a  suit  of  Irish  tweed  and  Irish  frieze  of  his  own  manu- 
facture, though  not  quite  twenty-two  years  old. 

SOME  poets  sing 
On  airy  wing, 
Of  knights  and  ladies  fair, 

Bedecked  so  fine, 

With  gems  that  shine, 
And  raiment  rich  and  rare. 

My  homely  theme 

To  such  may  seem 
Beneath  poetic  lore, 

For  I'll  relate 

The  virtues  great, 
Of  my  Breideen  cotha  mohr. 

This  coat  of  mine 
Is  not  so  fine 
As  other  coats  I've  seen ; 
But  this  I  know, 
When  frost  and  snow, 

*  My  f  reize  great  coat 
in 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  118 

Have  covered  o'er  the  green, 

As  miles  I  flee, 

My  love  to  see, 
Dear  Mauria,  gal  masthore  ! 

There's  no  room  for  cold 

Beneath  each  fold 
Of  my  Breideen  cotha  mohr. 

To  experienced  eyes 

This  Irish  frieze 
Is  much  like  Irish  men ; 

The  staple's  long 

The  fibre  stong, 
No  shoddy  mixed  therein  ; 

Well  fulled  and  pressed, 

It  warms  each  breast 
What  mortal  ever  wore 

A  coat  like  this, 

But  felt  the  bliss 
Of  a  Breideen  cotha  mohr  ? 

Men  high  in  state 

Make  efforts  great, 
In  striving  after  fame ; 

Alternately 

They're  doomed  to  see 
Joy,  grief,  remorse  and  shame 

Not  so  with  me, 

Howe'er  I  be, 
I  still  have  joy  in  store ; 

My  Mauria  bawn 

At  dusk  and  dawn, 
And  my  Breideen  cotha  mohr. 


114  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

The  puny  dude, 
Who  would  intrude 

Fox-hunting  English  style  ; 
His  mopish  stare 
And  mawkish  air 

Cause  men  of  sense  to  smile. 
By  ill-gained  wealth 
And  misspent  health, 

He's  sickly  to  the  core ; 
He  never  knows 
The  mirth  that  flows 

'Neath  a  Breideen  cotha  mohr. 

In  my  native  land, 

Dear  Ireland, 
Injustice  still  remains ; 

Then  shall  not  we, 

In  liberty, 
Assist  to  rend  her  chains  ? 

'Till  the  day  I  die, 

I'll  strive,  I'll  try 
Her  freedom  to  restore  ; 

For  her  I'd  pawn, 

Tomorrow  morn, 
My  Breideen  cotha  mohr. 

Then  hurrah  for 
Charles  Parnell, 

And  for  Michael  Davitt,  too ; 
For  each  hero  grand 
Who  showed  his  hand, 

Since  the  days  of  Brian  Boru  ; 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  116 

When  we,  who  here 

No  tyrants  fear, 
Do  as  these  did  before  ; 

I'll  dance  with  glee 

Such  sight  to  see, 
In  my  breideen  cotha  mohr. 


SLIGO  TOWN 
MOB 

Written  Christmas  Day,  1872. 

AIR — "THE  DAWNING  OF  THE  DAY." 

T  WAS  born  in  dear  old  Ireland,  and  I  lived  there 
•••    twenty  years, 

Since   reason   dawned   I've   always  keenly  felt  her 

hopes  and  fears, 
Oh  !  many  a  time  I  sadly  think  of  the  hour  I  sailed 

away, 
From   Sligo  town  that  lies  so  snug  at  the  foot  of 

Knocknarae. 

I  love  old  Ireland  all  around  the  north,  south,  east 

and  west, 
But  who  can  blame  me  if  I  love  that  dear  old  town 

the  best ; 
'Twas  there  that  first  my  infant  eyes  beheld  the  light 

of  day, 
Near  Sligo  town   that  lies  so  snug  at  the  foot  of 

Knocknarae. 

Though  far  away  across  the  main  in  spirit  oft  I  roam, 
Around  the  hills  and  valleys  of  my  dear  old  native 

home, 
For  many  a  pleasant  day  I  spent  ere  I  crossed  o'er 

the  sea, 
When   I'd   go   down  to  Sligo  town  at   the  foot  of 

Knocknarae. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  117 

The  green  fields  of  Ardcummer  and  the  groves  of 

Cooper's  hill, 
Keash  and  Geevah,  too,  does  very  oft  my  mind's  eye 

fill; 
Lough  Arrow's  stream  that  glides  along,  in  fancy  oft 

I  see, 
Near   Sligo  town  that  lies  so  snug  at  the  foot  of 

Knocknarae. 

Fresh  in  my  mind   I  always  find  kind  thoughts  of 

early  youth, 
Of  boys  and  girls  with  whom  I  played  in  innocence 

and  truth  ; 
The  old  school-house  and  chapel  where  we  learned 

and  used  to  pray, 
All,  all  comes  flashing  through  my  mind  when    I 

think  of  Knocknarae. 

I  never  forget  the  day  I  started  off  from  Riverstown  ; 

I  never  forget  the  friends  who  came  with  me  to  Sligo 
down  ; 

I  never  forget  the  long  last  look  from  the  top  of 
Cautheen's  brae, 

At  Sligo  town  that  lies  so  snug  at  the  foot  of  Knock- 
narae. 

I  love  my  dear  adopted  land,  I  love  it  as  my  life ; 
I  love  it  dearly  as  I  love  my  children  and  my  wife ; 
But  who  can  blame  me  if  I  love  old  Ireland  far  away, 
And    Sligo   town  that   lies  so  snug  at  the  foot  of 
Knocknarae. 

Oh  !  Irishmen,  you  have  the  brightest,  dearest  land 

on  earth, 
Why  don't  you  rise  like  men  and  free  the  dear  land 

of  your  birth, 


118  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

Unite  the  orange  and  the  green,  unfurl  it  right  away, 
Let  it  float  on  high  'neath  my  native  sky  on  the  top 
of  Knocknarae. 

The   fervent   dying   prayer   of    Allen    Larkin    and 

O'Brien,  — 
"  God  bless  and  save  old  Ireland,"  shall  evermore  be 

mine ; 
May  freedom,  peace  and  happiness  increase  from  day 

to  day, 
In  Ireland  all  'round  and  in  Sligo  town  at  the  foot  of 

Knocknarae. 


DEAR   ERIN 


AIR  —  COLLEEN  DHAS  CRUTHA-NA-MO. 

DEAR  Erin,  though  deep  is  thy  sorrow, 
Bonds  never  can  sully  thy  fame, 
From  thy  glorious  past  thou  canst  borrow, 

A  ray  to  illumine  thy  name  ; 
And  though  freedom  should  nevermore  bless  thee 

Whatever  thy  future  may  be, 
Though  tyranny  grind  and  oppress  thee, 
My  heart  shall  beat  fondly  for  thee. 

I  love  the  great  land  I  reside  in, 

The  home  of  the  free  and  the  brave, 
Her  bright  starry  banner  I  pride  in, 

O'er  freemen,  Oh  !  long  may  it  wave  ; 
But  when  thy  green  flag  all  unfurled, 

Shall  float  o'er  a  land  blest  and  free, 
Thou  wilt  then  be  the  pride  of  this  world, 

And  my  heart  shall  beat  proudly  for  thee. 

When  thy  son's  'neath  one  banner  united, 

Shall  bid  their  cursed  bickering  cease, 
Their  union  will  soon  be  requited, 

With  victory,  freedom  and  peace  ; 
When  the  shackles  which  bind  thee  are  riven, 

And  I  once  see  thee  happy  and  free, 
I'll  bequeath  then  my  spirit  to  Heaven, 

And  my  heart,  beloved  Erin,  to  thee. 


GOD  BLESS  THE   GOOD  OLD  IRISH 
BROGUE 


Suggested  by  the  words  of  Rev.  Father  Reardon,  St.  Joseph's, 
Roxbury,  Jan.  7,  1900. 

OD  bless  the  good  old  Irish  brogue  " 

God  bless  and  rest  the  men  who  spoke  it, 
Amongst  their  sons  it's  now  in  vogue, 
To  make  coarse  puns  and  sneer  and  joke  it  : 
Not  many  are  this  way  inclined  — 
A  recreant  few,  for  still,  the  many, 
Are  men  of  manly  heart  and  mind, 
Who  think  their  sires  the  best  of  any. 

'Tis  true  those  brave  old  Irishmen 
Were  not  well  up  in  English  grammar, 
But  who  on  earth  could  meet  them  when, 
They  swung  the  shovel,  pick  or  hammer  ? 
In  every  kind  of  useful  work, 
They  always  got  the  hardest  places, 
Yet,  never  were  they  known  to  shirk 
Or  on  a  pull,  slack  up  the  traces. 

Although  they  spoke  the  Irish  brogue 
And  England  drew  their  hate  upon  her, 
No  Irish  cad  or  dudish  rogue 
Could  ever  charge  them  with  dishonor. 
They  lost  all  else,  but  kept  the  faith, 
Pure,  fervent,  unadulterated, 

190 


SONGS  AND   POEMS  121 

They  never  drew  a  doubting  breath 
Nor  Holy  Church  once  underrated. 

They  fled  from  all  they  held  most  dear, 
From  home  and  kindred,  friend  and  neighbor, 
To  many  lands  —  but  chiefly  here 
Is  seen  the  fruit  of  Irish  labor. 
Yet  some  think  they  should  not  repeat 
What  with  their  eyes  they  saw  in  Ireland ; 
How  England  took  their  oats  and  wheat, 
With  famine  stalking  through  the  Island. 

When  stern  rebellion's  lifted  hand, 
Determined  to  disrupt  this  Nation, 
None  like  the  sons  of  Ireland 
Fought  for  the  Union's  preservation. 
On  every  battle-field  and  flood, 
The  old  green  flag  and  starry  banner, 
Were  torn,  while  wet  with  Irish  blood, 
But  never  lowered  in  dishonor. 

And  then,  the  Irish  Colleen  dhas, 
The  Irish  daughter,  wife  and  mother  ; 
She  spoke  the  brogue,  but  went  to  mass, 
No  matter  what  might  be  her  brother  : 
Strong,  tender-hearted,  generous,  pure, 
God,  Country,  kindred,  her  ambition ; 
What  other  woman  could  endure 
To  fill  her  place  in  each  position  ? 

God  bless  the  rich  old  Irish  brogue, 

God  bless  all  those  by  whom  'twas  spoken, 


122  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

The  stagey  slang  that's  now  in  vogue 
Gives  of  their  character  no  token ; 
The  Irish  who  so  love  to  toil 
Or  fight,  when  toil  or  fight  is  wanted, 
'Twas  these  —  transplanted  on  this  soil 
The  faith  St.  Patrick  deeply  planted. 


CEAD   MILLE    FAULTHIA    LATH 
SOGARTH   AROON. 

MM 
AIR — FATHER  O'FLYNN. 

Complimentary  to  Very  Rev.  Canon  White,  on  his  visit  to 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A.  Respectfully  dedicated  to  the  ladies  of 
St.  Cecilia's  Parish  and  of  the  Gaelic  School  who  took  such  active 
practical  interest  in  father  White's  labor  of  love  and  charity  for 
the  persecuted  people  of  Lough  Glynn  on  the  De  Freyne  estates. 

DEAR  Sogarth  Aroon  we  are  thankful  you  came 
to  us, 
Let  us  use  you  while  here,  so,  you'll   give  a  good 

name  to  us 

If  not  by  my  word  it  will  be  a  great  shame  to  us, 
Then,  Cead  Millia  Faulthia  lath  Sogarth  Aroon ! 
We  have  read  the  sad  news  from  Roscommon  Lough 

Glynn, 

Where  women  and  children  and  feeble  old  men, 
Are  roughly  evicted 
And  sorely  afflicted 

By  Landlord  De  Freyne  that  cold  Anglicized  coon. 
By  the  signs  of  the  times,  this  same  Landlord  De 

Freyne, 

May  find  his  evictions,  was  labor  in  vain, 
He'll  be  so  restricted 
That  those  he  evicted 
Will  get  back  their  homes  near  you,  Sogarth  Aroon. 

But  Sogarth  Aroon,  when  you  go  back  to  Ireland, 
Take  back  this  word  to  all  men  of  our  sireland, 


124  SONGS   AND   POEMS 

Tell  them  drop  party  feuds,  for  a  broader  and  higher 

land 

All  standing  together,  dear  Sogarth  Aroon ; 
Tell  them,  be  not  of  each  other  afraid, 
Let  each  stand  with  all  and  let  all  give  their  aid, 

Then  in  union  and  peace 

All  dissension  will  cease 

No  more  shall  be  heard  the  old  discordant  croon. 
When  all  shall  in  honor  ;  for  justice  unite 
No  power  on  this  earth  can  long  cheat  them  of  right, 

Then  Erin's  old  fame 

Will  emerge  from  all  shame 
Bright,  beamingly,  beautiful,  Sogarth  Aroon. 

Tell  them  the  first  thing  to  look  for,  is  unity 
(The  bed-rock  of  every  progressive  community.) 
Then  watch  and  prepare  for  the  grand  opportunity, 
If  signs  don't  deceive  'twill  present  itself  soon. 
Tell  them  that  liberty  cannot  be  won 
Except  when  the  people  can  handle  a  gun. 

And  we  Irish  who  fight 

In  all  lands  for  what's  right 

Should  stand  once  together  ;  dear  Sogarth  Aroon, 
To  buy  back  our  land  that  was  taken  by  force, 
Though  not  what  it  should  be,  dissension  is  worse, 

While  if  all  firmly  stand 

We  will  get  back  our  land 
And  with  it  sweet  liberty  too ;  will  be  won. 

Then  Ireland's  people  will  not  feel  ashamed  of  her 
Then,  then  they  can  wipe  out  the  lies,  that  were 
named  of  her 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  126 

When  the  vast  wealth  that  so  long  had  been  drained 

from  her 

Shall  remain  with  her  :  'twill  raise  her  from  gloom, 
Then  shall  the  real  Irish  this  wide  world  o'er, 
Desire  to  see  their  lost  country  once  more 
Her  fair  face  redeemed 
From  what  long  had  but  seemed 
A  bondage  to  last  till  the  great  day  of  doom  ! 
Her  people  at  home  will  show  'twasn't  neglect 
That  made  some  for  toil  show  deserved  disrespect 
But  because  what  their  toil 
Had  just  won  from  the  soil 
Was  taken  by  force  from  them,  Sogarth  Aroon  ! 

Oh  !    then  how   I'd  like  just  to  view  the   old  land 

again  ! 

Oh !  how  I'd  like  on  her  green  hills  to  stand  again  ; 
To  hear  the  sweet  notes  of  her  singing  birds,  grand 

again, 

The  sky-lark,  and  thrush  and  the  linnet  in  tune. 
More  joyful  than  all  will  ring  out  the  sweet  chime 
Of  bells  calling  worshipping  people  on  time 
To  altars  as  free 
From  Lough-Glynn  to  the  sea, 
As  any  beneath  the  bright  sun  or  the  moon. 
Then  shall  Canon  White's  new  sweet  chime  in  Lough 

Glynn 

Respond  to  the  rest  a  sonorous  amen  ! 
If  we  cannot  be  there 
We  will  get  his  heart's  prayer 
And  Christ's  benediction  from  Sogarth  Aroon  ! 


THE   SONS  OF  THE   GAEL. 

3*9* 

A  NEW  SONG  TO  AN  OLD  AIR. 

I'LL  sing  a  new  song  to  my  brothers  to-night 
Of  the  different  phases  of  wrong  and  of  right 
Let  us  practice  the  right  in  whatever  we  do 
And  all  that  is  wrong  firmly  cease  to  pursue 

CHORUS. 

When  every  true  brother 

Will  stand  by  each  other 
The  schemes  of  our  foes  to  divide  us  will  fail ; 

We  have  found  out  at  length 

That  in  union  is  strength 
Hand  in  hand  is  the  word  with  the  Sons  of  the  Gael. 

If  foreign  invasion  should  threaten  this  land 
What  race  like  the  gael  would  so  loyally  stand  ; 
Whoever  our  bright  starry  flag  would  assail 
Must  settle  accounts  with  the  Sons  of  the  Gael. 

Chorus. 

Behold  what's  being  done  upon  Africa's  plain, 
The  work  of  John  Bull  would  old  Beelzibub  stain  ; 
Every  nation  on  earth  to  do  right  should  arise 
And  blow  every  land  pirate  clear  to  the  skies. 

Chorus. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  127 

The  cowardly  world  looks  timidly  on, 
While  darkest  of  deeds  are  enacted  by  John ; 
But  as  slaves  make  the  tyrant  the  wide  world  o'er 
John  Bull  won't  long  tyranize  over  the  Boer. 

CHORUS. 

For  they  stand  by  each  other 

Like  brother  by  brother 
The  schemes  of  Jonn  Bull  to  divide  them  did  fail ; 

They  have  shown  us  at  length 

That  in  union  is  strength 
May  we  find  out  the  same  in  the  Sons  of  the  Gael. 

Then  brothers  awake  in  your  manhood  and  pride, 

Cast  every  excuse  for  dissension  aside 

Be  ready  if  dear  mother  Erin  shall  call 

To  strike  for  her  rights  not  a  faction  but  all. 

Chorus. 

On  things  not  essential  its  pleasant  to  see, 
That  we  can  like  others  at  times  disagree  ; 
But  when  vital  principles  foes  dare  assail 
Then  comes  the  grand  test  of  true  Sons  of  the  Gael. 

Chorus. 


FROM   ANTRIM   TO   CORK 
a*** 

OLD  IRISH  AIR. 

I   HAVE  heard  many  songs  from  the  bards  of  old 
Erin, 

In  praise  of  some  section  or  valley  or  hill, 
Or  strongly  denouncing  the  shackles  they're  wearin, 
Against  every  #-#^-blooded  Irishman's  will. 
I  myself  wrote  a  song  for  my  dear  native  Sligo, 
Such  kindly  remembrance  is  laudable  work, 
But,  henceforth  my  theme  will  be,  wherever  I  go, 
On  all  Ireland's  people  from  Antrim  to  Cork. 

There  once  was  a  time  —  not  so  long  ago  either, 
We  had  here  some  talk  'bout  Far-ups  and  Far-downs, 
But  thanks  be  to  God,  we  have  all  come  together, 
And  hear  when  we  meet  no  such  discordant  sounds  ; 
While  foreign  land-grabbers  first  rob,  then  deride  us, 
By  lies  which  if  true  would  shame  even  a  Turk, 
We  have  vowed  before  Heaven  no  more  they'll  divide 

us, 
We  will  stand  altogether  from  Antrim  to  Cork. 

Dissension  is  all  that  we  need  be  ashamed  of, 
On  all  other  lines  we  may  rightly  feel  proud ; 
Low  soul-smearing  vice,  we  have  rarely  been  blamed 

of, 
—  We  have  minor  feelings  it  must  be  allowed  ; 


SONG3   AND    POEMS  129 

But  taking  all  things  into  consideration, 

From  close  observation  we  never  need  shirk  ; 

No  people  on  earth  pushed  from  high  to  low  station, 

Could  stand  it  as  we  have,  from  Antrim  to  Cork. 

Now  Antrim  and  Cork  must  closer  together, 
Their  people  can  meet  though  the  hills  cannot  move, 
Let  Orange  and  Green  meet  and  vow  that  forever 
Hereafter,  they'll  meet,  but  in  friendship  and  love, 
The  feuds  that  divide  us  must  all  be  forgotten, 
Too  long  have  they  done  our  arch-enemy's  work ; 
Let's  bury  those  feuds  that  already  are  rotten, 
And  stand  for  all  Ireland  from  Antrim  to  Cork. 

Then  come  to  my  bosom  my  dear  doubting  brother, 
In  willing  response  to  sweet  Liberty's  call, 
To  stand  up  as  one  for  dear  Erin,  our  Mother, 
We  solemnly  promise  in  presence  of  all. 
Not  one  word  henceforth  to  awaken  resentment ; 
No  discordant  hint,  nor  unkindly  remark, 
Let  us  enter  to-day,  on  an  age  of  contentment, 
From  Dublin  to  Mayo  —  from  Antrim  to  Cork. 


B 


A   PATRIOTIC   APPEAL 

9*3* 

Irishman,  at  home  or  abroad ;  of  every  class  and  creed. 

RAVE  sons  and  fair  daughters  of  Erin's  green 

isle, 

I  earnestly  ask  your  attention  awhile, 
At  home  in  the  old  land  or  here  in  exile, 

Or  anywhere  else  in  creation  — 
Wherever  on  earth  you  sojourn  or  reside, 
I  appeal  to  your  honor  and  national  pride, 
Your  feuds  in  the  graves  of  your  ancesters  hide, 
Unite  and  make  Ireland  a  Nation. 

As  sensible  men  ask  yourselves  does  it  pay, 
To  see  your  brave  countrymen  driven  away 
Year  after  year,  and  day  after  day, 

Doomed  to  meet  degradation  and  danger  ; 
Wasting  their  blood,  and  their  sinew,  and  bone, 
Fighting  for  every  land  but  their  own, 
Whilst  dear  beloved  Erin  from  whence  they  have 
flown, 

Is  crushed  'neath  the  heel  of  the  stranger ! 

That  a  few  may  be  pampered  by  power  and  place, 
A  nation  is  buried  down  deep  in  disgrace, 
A  warm-hearted,  high-minded,  generous  race 

Is  trampled  upon  and  kept  under. 
Yet,  the  religious  frenzy  which  some  of  us  feel, 
Or  bigotry,  often  mistaken  for  zeal, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  131 

Makes  us  scoff  at  the  measures  and  men  that  would 

heal 
The  dissensions  which  keeps  us  asunder. 

Oh  !  Almighty  Creator  who  holdeth  in  hand 

The  fate  and  the  fortune  of  every  land ; 

Thou  has  given  us  grace  our  privations  to  stand, 

With  manly  and  calm  resignation  ! 
Our  hearts'  lightest  hopes  are  still  centered  in  Thee, 
That  thou  wilt  make  Erin  "  great,  glorious  and  free, 
First  flower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea," 

A  grand  and  prosperous  nation. 

Then  down  with  dissension,  drive  discord  away, 
On  each  hill-top  the  flag  of  our  country  display, 
Set  the  twelfth  of  July  and  St.  Patrick's  day* 

Aside,  to  be  told  of  in  story  ; 
But  the  day  that  all  sects  and  creeds  will  unite, 
And  shoulder  to  shoulder  prepare  for  the  fight 
That  day  will  be  always  kept  honored  and  bright, 

As  the  birthday  of  Ireland's  glory. 

*St.  Patrick's  day  should  be  observed  as  a  day  of  religious 
devotion  not  for  revelry  or  political  parades.  Still  less  should 
the  twelfth  of  July  be  observed  by  Irishmen  in  any  form. 
What's  wanted  in  Ireland  is  a  day  that  all  creeds  and  all  classes 
can  unite  on  in  peace  and  harmony,  to  work  shoulder  to  shoulder 
and  hand  in  hand  for  the  restoration  of  their  own  language  and 
the  upbuilding  of  an  out-and-out  Irish  Ireland.  The  first  step  to 
intelligent  and  permanent  Home  Rule. 


IRISH   EXPANSION 

3*3* 

OH  !  Erin  lovely  motherland,  cast  mourning  weeds 
aside, 
Cease  long-time  lamentation  —  sing  a  mother's  song 

of  pride, 
Since  wide  expansion  has  become  a  mark  of  highest 

fame 
In    forefront   of   the   nations   must  be  placed   your 

honored  name  ! 
If  people  make  a  nation  —  and  this  claim  has  been 

allowed, 
Then,  Erin  hold  your  head  up  —  you  have  reason  to 

be  proud, 
When  all  the  high  achievement  of  your  children  can 

be  seen, 
Among  enlightened  nations  you  will  be  the  chosen 

queen. 

REFRAIN. 

For,  scattered  wide  and  far, 
Your  children  though  we  are  ; 
We  honor  love  and  bless  you  mother  Erin  ! 

What  other  race  of  people  has  there  lived  beneath 

the  sun 
That  could  outlive  the  tyranny  your  children  have  ? 

not  one ! 
Instead   of    their   extinction   as   the   tyrant   deeply 

planned, 

189 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  133 

It  but  caused  their  emigration  to  most  every  foreign 

land. 
Your  tyrant  neighbor  proudly  boasts  —  the  sun  sets 

not  upon, 
Her  world-wide  possessions  —  but,  her  forces  once 

withdrawn  ; 
Her  mercenary  minions  would  be  driven  from  each 

shore, 
While  foreign  countries  prize   your  children,  daily 

more  and  more. 

Refrain, 

The  arrogance  of  power,  and  the  blandishments  of 

wealth 
All  the  wily,  sly,  temptations  of  the  serpents'  slimy 

stealth, 
Have  been  up  before  your  children  almost  everywhere 

they  be, 
Yet,  they  very  rarely  waver,  in  their  love  of  God  and 

Thee! 
Then  raise  your  head  with  honor  'mongst  the  nations 

of  the  earth 
Though  you  have  lost  your  children  of  true  friends 

you  have  no  dearth 
Wherever  they  have  settled,  they  have  made  for  you 

a  friend, 
While  England  hasri  t  one  to-day,  on  whom  she  can 

depend  ! 

Rejrain. 


o 


MICHAEL   DAVITT'S    SOLILOQUY 

IN   PORTLAND   PRISON 

MM* 

dear  mother  Erin, 
It  matters  not  where  in 
This  wide  world  I'm  placed,  I  can  never  forget 
Thy  green  hills  and  valleys, 
Where  in  youth's  earnest  sallies 
My  playmates  and  friends  I  good-naturedly  met.; 
The  green  dasied  spot, 
Near  the  old  rustic  cot 

Where  my  parents,  though  poor,  lived  in  peace  years 
ago, 

Where  with  youth  and  coy  maid 
I  oft  gleefully  played, 
In  the  old  town  of  Straide,  in  the  county  Mayo. 

And  though  humble  our  dwelling, 

My  eyes  they  are  welling, 

I  feel  my  heart  swelling  when  I  think  of  the  day 
On  which  with  short  warning, 

One  cold,  wintry  morning, 
All  righteousness  scorning,  they  turned  us  away ; 

I  heard  the  earth  rumble, 

When  the  roof  down  did  tumble, 
I  saw  the  walls  crumble  'neath  many  a  blow. 

'Twas  soon  in  ruins  laid, 

By  the  crowbar  brigade, 
In  the  old  town  of  Straide,  in  the  county  Mayo. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  185 

Ere  I  turned  from  the  scene, 

I  knelt  down  on  the  green 
And  prayed  a  just  God  to  disclose  unto  me, 

When  grown  to  a  man, 

The  most  feasible  plan 
To  transplant  here  a  sprig  of  sweet  liberty's  tree, 

My  prayer  has  been  granted  ; 

The  tree  has  been  planted, 
And  all  those  who  wanted  its  virtues  to  know, 

Already  find  aid 

'Neath  its  wide  growing  shade, 

Which  has  spread  out  from  Straide,  o'er  the  county 
Mayo. 

In  bog,  brake  and  highland, 

All  o'er  the  green  island, 
The  tree  I  have  planted  has  taken  deep  root ; 

The  soil  seems  to  suit  it ; 

No  storm  can  uproot  it, 
The  people  have  tasted  its  life-giving  fruit ; 

Though  confined  in  this  cell, 

It  is  planted  so  well 
All  the  demons  of  hell  cannot  harm  it,  I  know ; 

For  no  man  is  afraid 

When  beneath  that  tree's  shade, 
Which  I  planted  in  Straide,  in  the  county  Mayo. 

That  Michael  Davit  was  the  founder  of  the  Irish  Land  League 
is  well  known  to  those  who  took  an  active  part  in  that  great  move- 
ment for  the  amelioration  of  the  conditions  of  the  Irish  people. 

After  a  visit  to  this  country  during  which  he  outlined  his  plan 
of  campaign  to  prominent  Irish  Nationalists  and  received  their 
entire  approbation  of  said  plan  with  promises  of  unlimited  support 
morally  and  financially,  he  opened  the  agitation  by  holding  his 
first  meeting  on  the  ruins  of  his  boyhood  home  in  the  village  of 
Straide  in  the  County  Mayo. 


186  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

How  the  Land  League  spread  out  all  over  Ireland  and  America 
is  so  well  known,  it  is  unnecessary  for  the  introduction  of  these 
simple  verses  to  recite  at  any  length  the  numerous  incidents  of  that 
grand  and  highly  moral  and  elevating  agitation. 

When  it  had  broadened  out  so  as  to  become  a  National  move- 
ment Michael  Davitt  turned  over  the  leadership  to  Charles  Stewart 
Parnell  and  became  one  of  the  latters  most  trusted  lieutenants  and 
advisers. 

In  his  desire  to  unite  the  whole  Irish  people  in  this  grand  Na- 
tional movement,  Davitt  visited  Belfast  and  made  speeches  to  the 
Orangemen  and  was  warmly  and  cordially  received. 

This  did  not  suit  Dublin  Castle  "  Buckshot  "  Foster  the  Secre- 
tary for  Ireland  saw  that  if  the  Orangemen  once  fell  into  line  with 
their  countrymen  England's  hold  on  Ireland  would  be  materially 
weakened  if  not  entirely  lost,  so  detectives  were  sent  after  Davitt, 
he  was  apprehended,  spirited  away  to  Portland  prison  in  the  heart 
of  England,  his  ticket  of  leave  was  withdrawn,  and  he  was  con- 
demned to  serve  the  unexpired  year  of  his  sentence  of  fifteen 
years.  This  is  how  England  rewards  an  Irishman  who  tries  to 
make  peace  between  warring  factions  in  Ireland. 

It  was  at  this  time  and  under  these  circumstances  I  wrote 
"  Michael  Davitt's  Soliloquy  in  Portland  Prison." 


WILLIAM    REDMOND'S  WELCOME 

I. 

Mtt* 

WELCOME  William  Redmond  from  old  Erin's 
lovely  shore, 

What  news  is  there  from  Ireland  ? 
What  hope  is  there  for  Ireland  ? 

Will  England's  cruel  conduct  keep  her  crushed  for- 
ever more  ? 

Or,  will  some  grand  upheavel  come,  and  all  her  rights 
restore  ? 

REFRAIN. 

All  Irishmen  together  stand  —  cast  ancient  feuds 
away 

Together,  for  old  Ireland 
For  God  and  for  our  Motherland 
If  you  would  see,  loved  Erin  free,  begin  the  work 

to-day  ; 

Be  men  —  be  friends  —  be  Irishmen  —  show  Ireland 
fairplay. 

It's  a  positive  disgrace  for  all  great  nations  of  the 
earth, 

To  stand  and  see  old  Ireland 
Gen'rous  faithful  Ireland, 
Trampled  on,  her  children,  crowded  out  and  driven 

forth  ; 

The  mark  for  English  slanderers,  the  but  of  English 
mirth. 

Refrain. 

1ST 


138  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Race  suicide  in  Erin  ?    Yes,  but  it's  England's  burn- 
ing shame, 

Her's  is  that  racial  suicide 
Her  sailor,  soldier  suicide, 
'Twas  Ireland's  sons  that  gained  for  her,  most  all  she 

had  of  fame 

If  to-day  they  are  against  her  she  has  but  herself  to 
blame. 

Refrain. 

Twice  welcome  William  Redmond,  stay  with   us  a 
year  or  two, 

Stay  here  in  great  America, 
In  happy  proud  America  ! 
Pass    Ireland's    grinding   grievances   once    more   in 

review, 

Consult  with  great  Americans  and  plan  out  what  to 
do. 

Refrain, 

There  are  some  wealthy  Irishmen  amongst  us  here, 
but  they 

Forget  down  trodden  Ireland, 
Their  native  home,  their  motherland  ! 
With  few  exceptions,  wealth  but  makes  them  closer 

every  day 

Consult  with  all  Americans,  true  lovers  of  fair  play. 

Refrain. 

Thrice  welcome  William  Redmond,  they  can  find  a 
man  for  Clare 

To  sit  in  England's  parliament 
That  long  out-dated  parliament ; 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  139 

You'd  do  more  good  in  one  year  here,  than  twenty- 
five  years  there, 

Stay  here,  paint  Irelands  grievances  and  she'll  be 
treated  "  square." 

Refrain. 

Consult  our  noble  president  he'll  meet  you  like  a 
man  ; 

He  is  no  party's  president ! 
He's  every  freeman's  president ! 
He  just  worked  out  a  manly  peace  'twixt  Russia  and 

Japan, 

He  can  make  peace  for  Ireland,  he  II  do  it  if  he  can  ! 

Refrain. 


WILLIAM  REDMOND'S  WELCOME 
II. 

MM* 

WILLIAM  REDMOND,  you're  welcome  across 
the  Pacific, 

It's  a  round-a-bout  way  from  oldErin's  green  shore, 
But  if  you  have  brought  us  news  somewhat  specific 
Of  Erin's  bright  prospects,  you  are  welcome  the  more ; 
You  went  a  long  journey,  to  far-off  Australia, 
To  tell  the  conditions  in  dear  motherland  — 
Your  brethren  from  Erin,  off  there  didn't  fail  you, 
It  was,  cead  mille  faulthia,  on  every  hand. 

If  nations  of  people  grow  great  by  expansion  — 
(And  power  and  importance  are  measured  that  way) 
What  nation  on  earth  ruled  from  palace  or  mansion 
Can  match  Erin's  greatness  and  grandeur  to-day ; 
William  Redmond  would  you  visit  all  your  relations, 
'Twould  be  many  a  year  ere  your  journey  was  done  ; 
Driven  out  —  they  took  refuge  in  all  foreign  nations, 
Both  friendly  and  unfriendly,  under  the  sun. 

Expansion  of  lands  over  wide  swelling  oceans, 
Does  not  constitute  a  great  nation,  alone ; 
The  people  of  all  lands,  have  different  notions, 
Every  people  on  earth  have  some  fad  of  their  own ; 
But  Erin's  brave  sons,  and  her  beautiful  daughters, 
Wherever  they  wander  —  wherever  they  roam 
In  far  foreign  lands,  over  turbulent  waters, 
Unite  in  their  love,  for  their  dear  native  home. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  141 

With  decrepit  army  and  out-of-date  navy  — 
John  Bull  has  been  ogling  brave  uncle  Sam  ; 
Beginning  to  feel  that  his  load  is  too  heavy, 
He's  using  his  flibbergib  methods  of  flam  ; 

But  knowing  well  his  tricks,  we  know  how  to  expose 
him, 

His  agents  have  here  but  their  work  for  their  pains  ; 
We'll  openly,  earnestly,  always  oppose  him, 
While  Erin  clanks,  one  galling  link  of  his  chains. 

Some  men  with  lip  service  profess  love  and  loyalty  — 

In  union  alone,  all  can  loyalty  prove ; 

When  her  tyrants  through   hate,  have  united  with 

royalty. 

Let  all  Erin's  friends —  be  united  in  love  * 
William    Redmond    once    more    a   warm  cead  mille 

faulthia 

And  when  you  get  back  to  old  Erin's  green  shore, 
Toast  all  Erin's  children  and  Erin,  a  slauntha, 
From  heart-loving  friends  that  may  see  them  no  more. 

Then  why  shouldn't  Erin  feel  highly  elated, 

Though  holding  no  foot  of  this  broad  earth  at  all ; 

She  has  allies  galore,  to  her  closely  related, 

In  every  land  on  this  great  earthly  ball. 

No  army,  no  navy,  no  land,  no  dominion, 

No  taxes  to  levy  or  gather  when  due 

Yet,  the  fulcrum  and  lever  of  public  opinion 

Is  doing  for  her  now  what  all  these  couldn't  do. 

*'Twas  fate  they'll  say,  a  wayward  fate, 

Our  web  of  discord  wove, 
And  while  our  tyrants  joined  in  hate, 

We  never  joined  in  love. 

TOM  MOORE. 


MOTHER   ERIN 

MM* 

OH  !  Spirit  of  liberty,  come  to  my  aid 
While  singing  these  verses  to  Erin, 
For  sweet  as  the  task  is,  I'm  somewhat  afraid 
If  thy  spirit  my  task  does  not  share  in, 
For,  who  can  her  paint  as  God  meant  her  to  be  ? 
The  fairest  of  islands  that  sit  in  the  sea  ! 
While  chastest  and  bravest  wherever  they  flee 
Are  your  daughters  and  sons,  Mother  Erin ! 

Though  millions  were  driven  away  from  your  shore 
Of  your  daughters  and  sons,  Mother  Erin, 

Time  and  distance  make  true  hearts  but  love  you  the 

more 

And  detest  the  vile  chains  you  are  wearin'. 
The  millions  so  ruthlessly  driven  away 
Are  gaining  in  numbers  and  strength  every  day ; 
They  will  spring  to  your  aid  at  your  tyrants'  dismay 
From  all  parts  of  the  earth,  Mother  Erin. 

In  far  off  Australia,  very  few  have  grown  cold 
'Mongst  your  daughters  and  sons,  Mother  Erin, 
There,  hundreds  of  thousands  untramelled  by  gold 
Your  cause  would  at  once  interfere  in. 
In  England  herself  and  in  Canada,  too, 
There  are  thousands  of  hearts  beating  loyal  to  you, 
Who  would  dare  do  whatever  the  bravest  would  do, 
Of  your  daughters  and  sons,  Mother  Erin  ! 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  143 

Here  in  America,  land  of  the  free  ! 

Or,  sometimes  'tis  called  —  "  Greater  Erin  "  — 

In  liberty's  light,  we  thy  children  can  see, 

More  clearly  the  wrongs  you  are  bearin'. 

The  tyrant  who  robbed,  and  then  forced  us  to  fly, 

Or  like  other  millions  remain,  starve  and  die, 

Will  find  us  a  unit  conclusions  to  try 

With  him,  for  your  sake,  Mother  Erin  ! 

Encore  verses. 

His  wiliest  work  is  being  done  through  this  land 

To  get  Uncle  Sam  in  a  tangle, 

But  Irishmen  too  well  his  wiles  understand, 

We'll  meet  him  at  every  angle. 

The  treaty  he  sighs  for,  he'll  try  for  in  vain ; 

We  exposed  him  before,  we'll  oppose  him  again, 

So  long  as  one  link  of  his  coercion  chain 

Shall  clank  on  thy  limbs,  Mother  Erin  ! 


A  SONG  IN   ENGLISH   FOR   AN 
IRISH   IRELAND 

MM* 

FROM  that  land  long  despoiled  by  oppression 
(For  which  she  soon  hopes  for  redress) 
Whose  law-makers  gave  her  coercion 

That  cursed  her,  where  Heaven  would  bless, 
From  that  beautiful  Isle  of  the  ocean 

The  fairest  the  sun  shines  upon  ; 
We  have  learned  with  heartfelt  emotion 
The  day  of  her  thraldrom  has  gone. 

The  news  that  comes  to  us  from  Erin 

Shows  freedom  is  fast  making  gains, 
Those  who,  English  fetters  liked  wearin' 

Now,  chafe  at  the  clank  of  her  chains  ! 
They  are  learning  the  old  language  steady  — 

Such  reflex  it  o'er  them  has  cast ; 
They  all,  in  great  measure  already 

Have  buried  the  feuds  of  the  past. 

(Foul  feuds  that  the  scheming  oppressor, 

Fomented  and  financed  and  nursed  ! 
Since  Erin  became  their  possessor 

She  has  been  divided  and  cursed). 
They  fling  back  the  false  accusation, 

More  galling  than  tyranny's  chains  ; 
That  the  cause  of  their  Isle's  subjugation 

Was,  lack  of  executive  brains. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  146 

No  more  shall  the  sweat  of  the  toiler, 

Be  spent  to  help  tyranny's  game  ; 
That  the  conscienceless  heartless  despoiler, 

May  revel  in  riotous  shame. 
The  resources  of  civilization 

Long  claimed  by  the  tyrant  alone ; 
Her  people  show  strong  inclination 

To  seize  and  to  make  them  their  own. 

We  send  back  this  message  to  Erin, 

From  every  intelligent  club, 
And  from  every  organization 

Both  female  and  male  in  the  Hub. 
From  every  Hibernian  meeting 

(Renouncing  past  envy  and  spleen) 
Our  heart's  warmest  greeting  entreating 

That  orange  unite  with  the  green. 

The  day  both  declare  independence, 

From  Sectarian  hatred  and  spite  ; 
That  day's  beaming  beauteous  resplendence, 

Will  radiate  liberty's  light. 
Then,  under  one  united  banner, 

Let  each  with  his  brethren  vie 
In  earning  the  world's  high  honor 

For  Erin's  Grand  Fourth  of 


SONG    OF    THE    ANCIENT    ORDER 
OF   HIBERNIANS. 

ara* 

AIR  —  "MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA." 

TJ IBERNIANS,  Ancient  Order  Men,  true  children 
1~1     of  the  Gael, 

Sit  not  in  silent  sorrow  our  past  troubles  to  bewail, 
Demand  that  love  and  unity  'mongst  Irishmen  pre- 
vail, 
For  God  and  beloved  Mother  Erin. 

CHORUS. 

Awake  !  arise  !  send  forth  the  stern  demand, 
Awake  !  arise  !  henceforth  together  stand, 
Resolve  to  drive  dissension  from  our  outraged  Mother- 
land 
And  free  our  beloved  Mother  Erin. 

We  have  been  long  deluded  by  false  promises  galore, 

Made  us  when  England  wanted  troops,  smashed  when 
her  fight  was  o'er, 

She's  fooled  us  far  too  often  she  will  fool  us  never- 
more : 

Erin  must  have  Home  Rule,  or  Freedom  ! 

Chorus. 

I  appeal  to  every  Irishman  whatever  be  his  creed, 
To  drop  sectarian  feeling,  'till  our  country  has  been 
freed, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  147 

The  end  will  justify  the  means  and  consecrate  the 

deed, 
That  makes  beloved  Ireland  a  nation. 

Chorus. 

The  generous  Irish  heart  is  warm  through  evil  and 
through  good, 

The  man  who  thinks  of  self  alone,  is  not  of  Irish 

blood ; 

The  selfish  few  are  foreigners  let  this  be  understood  ; 
The  agents  of  the  sassanach  invader. 

Chorus. 

Men  answer  for  their  religion  to  God  the  Lord  alone, 
Then  where  did  our  Creator  tell  us  fight  against  our 

own  ? 

It's  by  the  foreign  enemy  the  seeds  of  strife  are  sown, 
Not  by  your  generous  children,  Mother  Erin ! 

Chorus. 

England  could  not  hold  us  down  but  for  a  noisy  few, 
When  they  get  in  their  work  she  then  at  once  knows 

what  to  do, 
If  she  has  no  coercion  law  she  grinds  one  quickly 

through, 
To  barricade  the  only  way  to  freedom. 

Chorus. 

Then,  let  all  Irish,  Irishmen  with  A.  O.  H.  unite, 
And  for  an  Irish  Ireland  join  in  the  glorious  fight, 
Against  the  common  enemy  who  bring  but  crime  and 

blight 
And  make  all  Erin's  people  one  great  Nation  !  * 


148  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

*  It  is  people  that  make  a  nation  not  land  or  factories,  ships  or 
commerce.  By  the  coercive,  restiictive  policy  of  the  English  gov- 
ernment or  misgovernment  of  Iieland;  the  Irish  people  became 
the  greatest  or  one  of  the  greatest  nations  of  the  world.  For 

"  Wherever  they  have  settled,  there  old  Erin  has  a  friend 
While  England  hasn't  one  to-day  on  whom  she  can  depend." 


PART   THREE 

VOLUME   I 


SONG   OF  THE   HOLY   NAME 
am* 

Dedicated  (fraternally)  to  the  Holy  Name  Society. 

IV  TUMEROUS  are  the  associations, 

1  N      Spread  out  broad-cast  o'er  the  nations, 

With  new-fangled  declarations, 

Something  wonderful  to  find  — 
Some  get  organized  for  pleasure, 
Some,  to  gain  and  hoard-up  treasure 
These  attained  in  fullest  measure 

Do  not  satisfy  the  mind. 

They  but  fill  it  with  desire, 
Much  does  always  more  require, 
As  the  piling  coals  on  fire 

Makes  a  bigger,  hotter  blaze 
So,  the  mind  of  man  keeps  yearning, 
Longing,  wishing,  sighing,  mourning, 
Scarcely  ever  once  discerning, 

What's  the  cause  of  all  the  craze. 

What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  yearning, 
Mankind  is  so  slow  in  learning, 
So  obtuse  in  not  discerning  ? 

'Tis  the  hungering  of  the  soul  ; 
For,  what  all  earth's  hoarded  treasure, 
All  its  joys  and  all  its  pleasure, 
Poured  out  in  unbounded  measure, 

Cannot  purchase  nor  control. 


152  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

But  we,  banded  here  together, 
To  inspire  and  help  each  other, 
As  true  brothers  do  a  brother 

To  a  higher,  safer  plane  — 
When  we,  all  our  sins  confessing 
Get  the  absolution  blessing, 
And  our  Lord  himself  possessing  — 

Then  our  souls  their  longing  gain  ? 

Brethren  then,  let  us  endeavor, 
By  our  Christian-like  behavior, 
To  adore  our  Holy  Savior, 

And  our  order  raise  to  fame  ! 
In  our  ardor  never  ceasing, 
Virtue  gaining,  sins  releasing, 
Ever  in  our  love  increasing 

For  our  Savior's  Holy  Name  ! 

Ours  —  A  faith  that's  worth  believing, 
Points  a  life  that's  worth  the  living ; 
Gives  instruction  worth  receiving 

Candid,  simple,  truthful,  plain  ! 
Points  the  paths  we  have  to  tread  in 
Rules  to  earn  our  daily  bread  in, 
And  the  lines  our  lives  well  led  in, 

Everlasting  life  to  gain. 


GIVE  ME,  O  LORD!  THE  WILL 
AND  STRENGTH 

MM* 


IVE  me,  O  Lord  !  the  will  and  strength 

To  keep  from  sin  and  shame  ; 
Give  me  the  grace  my  whole  life's  length 

To  bless  Thy  holy  name  ! 
I  thank  Thee  for  this  pleasant  home 

Exempt  from  fuss  and  strife 
I  thank  Thee  for,  'mongst  what  may  come, 

My  gentle,  loving  wife. 

Thou'st  given  me  so  many  gifts, 

For  three  score  years  and  more  ; 
The  thought  of  Thee  my  soul  uplifts, 

When  I  would  else  feel  sore. 
I've  been  ungrateful  in  the  past, 

But,  Lord,  I  humbly  pray, 
Forgive  me,  and  while  life  shall  last 

I'll  bless  Thee  night  and  day. 

Sometimes  I  have  been  sorely  pressed 

With  sad  domestic  pain 
But  thanks  to  Thee  I  have  been  blessed 

From  anger  to  refrain 
And  now  in  my  brief  closing  days 

Let  all  my  efforts  be 
Employing  in  Thy  love  and  praise, 

Faith,  Hope  and  Charity  ! 


A   CHRISTMAS   PRAYER 


FOR    YOUNG    AND    OLD 
Dedicated  to  the  Holy  Name  Society. 

INFANT  Jesus  —  heavenly  child  ! 
1     Make  my  temper  meek  and  mild, 
My  conscience  clean  and  undefiled. 

Infant  Jesus  —  while  a  youth, 
Guide  me  in  the  path  of  truth 
From  false  paths  and  fads,  uncouth. 

Infant  Jesus  —  when  a  man, 
Aid  me  to  work  out  life's  plan 
If  not  first  best  —  the  best  I  can  ! 

Jesus  —  when,  in  years,  I'm  old, 
Keep  me  safe  within  the  fold, 
Keep  my  heart  from  growing  cold. 

Infant  Jesus  —  when  comes  death, 
Thy  grace  surround  me  like  a  wreath 
Jesus  —  lisp  my  latest  breath  ! 


RESIGNATION 


"  O  the  depth  of  the  riches,  of  the  wisdom  and  of  the  knowledge 
of  God  I  How  incomprehensible  are  his  judgments,  and  how 
unsearchable  his  ways!"  —  St.  Paul. 

WE  bless  Thee  Lord,  for  all  Thy  ways  ! 
Thy  wondrous  ways  shall  ever  be 
The  theme  of  our  most  ardent  praise  ; 
We  pray  Thee  evermore  to  raise 
Our  minds,  our  hearts,  our  thoughts  to  Thee  ! 

When  tribulation  marks  our  path 

And  makes  the  prospect  dark  and  drear  ; 

We  know  it  is  our  sins,  that  hath 

Awakened,  Thy  paternal  wrath 

And  then  we  feel,  that  Thou  art  near. 

When  our  possessions  melt  in  air, 

As  dew  before  the  morning  sun  ; 

Let  us  with  resignation  bear 

The  losses  we  cannot  repair, 

And  humbly  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 

When  those  we  prized  the  most  on  earth 

Are  summoned  suddenly  away  ; 

A  gloom  is  cast  o'er  home  and  hearth, 

A  bar  on  every  joy  and  mirth, 

And  all  our  pleasures  pass  away  — 


156  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

'Tis  then  we  feel  the  chastening  rod, 
'Tis  then  we  humbly  bend  the  knee 
To  Thee,  our  Father  and  our  God  ; 
We  quit  the  wayward  paths  we  trod, 
And  haste  confidingly  to  Thee. 

And  falling  down  before  Thy  face, 
With  humbled  brow  and  hearts  contrite ; 
We  ask  Thee  Lord  that  Thou  replace 
Us,  in  Thy  love  and  in  Thy  grace, 
Through  Him  who  died  on  Calvary's  height ! 

We  bless  Thee  Lord  for  all  Thy  ways ! 

Thy  wondrous  ways  shall  ever  be 

The  theme  of  our  most  ardent  praise  ; 

We  pray  Thee  evermore  to  raise, 

Our  minds,  our  hearts,  our  thoughts  to  Thee ! 


SAINT   ANTHONY'S   PARISH 

ALLSTON,  MASS. 


Dedicated  to  Very  Rev.  Father  Tracy,  Missionary  Apostolic- 
Pastor  of  Saint  Anthony's  Parish,  Allston,  and  to  his  Reverend 
Assistants,  Fathers  Kelliher  and  MacNamarra,  and  to  the  Holy 
Name  Society.  Written  on  the  eve  of  Saint  Anthony's  Day, 
June  12,  1904. 

THE  people  of  Blessed  Saint  Anthony's  parish 
In  zeal  are  increasing,  in  serving  the  Lord, 
The  pastors,  their  people  most  lovingly  cherish, 
That  all  may  receive  high,  eternal  reward  ; 
The  homage  they  preach  to  the  name  of  our  Savior 
Has  grown  and  spread  out,  in  a  wonderful  way, 
'Twas  seen  in  the  Holy-Name  member's  behavior, 
Receiving  their  Holy  Communion  to-day. 

The  people  in  turn,  love  and  cherish  their  pastor 
Beloved  Father  Tracy,  who  would  not  approve  ? 
His  zeal  in  the  work  of  his  Heavenly  Master 
Warms  cold,  wayward  hearts  to  God's  mercy  and  love  ; 
He  has  just  led  us  through  a  most  pious  novena, 
Nine  days  of  devotion,  deep,  earnest,  sincere  — 
Throughout  one's  whole  life  very  few  ever  seen  a 
Devotion,  so  sweet,  as  that  now  closing  here. 

The  women  of  Blessed  Saint  Anthony's  parish 
A  noble  example  have  given  the  men, 
Which,  if  the  men  practice,  religion  will  flourish  ; 
God's  blessing  and  grace  will  abide  with  us  then. 

XS7 


158  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

The  virtues  of  blessed  Saint  Bridget  of  Erin, 

Can  yet  in  the  daughters  of  Erin  be  seen  ; 

How  sweet  will  the  fruit  be,  these  virtues  are  bearin', 

When  prayerfully  practiced  by  women  and  men. 

There  are  ominous  sighs,  not  at  all  re-assuring, 
War,  death,  and  disaster  are  heard  of  all  round  ; 
The  pent-up  resentment,  that  some  are  enduring 
Break  out  now  and  then  with  a  turbulent  sound  : 
But   here,   priests   and   people  —  the   cross   as   our 

standard, 

In  peace  with  all  mankind  —  in  charity  pray 
For  all  who  from  Faith  and  their  duty  have  wandered, 
As  in  the  novena  just  ending  to-day. 

Oh !  blessed  be  the  name  of  our  dear  Lord  and 
Savior, 

God  bless  our  loved  pastors  who  honor  his  name, 

God  bless  the  brave  men  who  will  henceforth  en- 
deavor * 

To  make  desecration  a  popular  shame  ! 

Though  frail  be  our  efforts,  the  Lord  in  his  mercy 

Who  knows  best  our  weakness,  will  answer  our 
prayer, 

Presented  so  earnestly  by  Father  Tracy  ; 

Addressed  to  our  Lord  in  Saint  Anthony's  care. 

*  The  Holy  Name  Society. 


A  RHYMING  REVIEW  OF  THE 
CHALLENGE  CUP 

MM* 

Dedicated  to  Thomas  Lipton,  a  true  Irish  sportsman. 

TWO-and-fifty  years  ago 
On  August  twenty-second, 
The  world  saw  that  Uncle  Sam 
Had  accurately  "reckoned." 

That  he  could  lift  the  Challenge  Cup, 
(A  challenge  proud  and  high) 

Sent  by  John  Bull  of  Swagger  full- 
Sam  picked  up  John's  defy. 

He  sent  his  yacht  America 

Across  to  take  a  hand, 
And  show  what  Yankee  skill  could  do 

To  so-called  "  Motherland." 

John  Bull  put  on  his  broadest  smile, 
Slapped  both  his  thighs  and  laughed 

At  Uncle  Sam,  to  send  across 
Such  "rakish  looking  craft." 

Sam  also  "  smoled  "  a  knowing  smile, 

And  said  "as  in  the  past  ; 
Between  us  John,  he  laughs  the  best 

Who  waits  and  laughs  the  last." 


160  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

The  great  event  proved  Uncle  Sam 
Was  then,  as  always  right ; 

The  craft  John  laughed  at,  fooled  all  his 
And  left  them  out  of  sight. 

So  this  is  how  Sam  took  the  cup, 
Which  plainly  goes  to  show, 

Britania  has  not  "  ruled  the  wave  " 
Since  fifty  years  ago. 

It  has  been  saved  so  often  since 

The  cup  is  highly  prized, 
It's  with  us  fifty  years  or  more 

And  has  been  naturalized. 

Eleven  times  John  did  his  best 

To  "  lift  "  the  cup  away, 
But  somehow  yet  that  souvenir 

Preferred  with  us  to  stay. 

From  Cambria  to  Shamrock  third, 
All  met  with  square  defeat, 

The  past  is  known  ;  but  who  can  tell 
What  Sam  is  going  to  meet  ? 

Shamrock  third  has  come  across 

A  sprightly  craft  is  she 
Tom  Lipton  says  she'll  "  lift "  the  cup 

As  handy  as  can  be. 

Well ;  if  the  cup  is  ever  going 

Away  from  us  at  all  ; 
Some  millions  would  not  shed  a  tear 

To  see  it  go  this  fall. 


SONGS    AND    POEMS  161 

For  Lipton  is  a  sportsman  true, 

He  is  no  "  Ravin  "  Lord  ; 
Not  one  word  has  he  ever  said 

To  cause  or  raise  discord. 

A  man  of  generous  impulse  he, 

In  honor  brave  and  bold  ; 
(As  every  Irishman  should  be) 

A  rank  they  love  to  hold. 

True  sportsman  then  would  build  new  yachts, 

To  bring  the  cup  this  way ; 
Of  interest,  there  would  be  lots 

Aroused,  and  brought  in  play. 

If  ever  we  can  have  such  race 

On  Irish  seas  'twill  be, 
For  Erin  soon  can  show  her  face 

Her  land  and  people  free  ! 

AFTER  THE  RACE 

Well,  once  again  Tom  Lipton  failed 

To  "  lift  "  that  heavy  cup, 
Yet  some  say  he  may  try  again, 

He'll  hate  to  give  it  up. 

But  should  he  try  no  more,  we  can, 

Say  this,  with  accents  true  ; 
He  has  proved  himself  a  manly  man 

From  every  point  of  view. 


A/I 


MM 

ADAM  nature  works  so  well 

Blood  is  always  sure  to  tell ; 
And  where  can  blood  of  purity  be  found, 
So  exclusiuely  as  free 
From  all  taint  in  pedigree, 
As  among  full-blooded  Irish  clean  and  sound. 

In  each  truly  Irish  face 
High  intelligence,  finds  place, 

Virtue's  inborn  stamp  won't  wear  away ; 
Pure  blood-true  faith  combined, 
Give  a  Heaven  directed  mind, 

Such  as  bless  the  Irish  girls  of  Back  Bay. 

It  was  not  (to  Erin's  pride) 

The  curse  of  race  suicide, 
That  caused  her  population  to  decay ; 

England's  cruel  rule  and  laws 

Were  and  are  the  only  cause, 
That  made  servants  for  the  wealthy  of  Back  Bay. 

What  a  robbery  of  race 
(To  old  England's  deep  disgrace) 
It  was  to  send  these  girls  far  away, 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  163 

And  the  young  men  of  their  age 
Who  in  wedlock  would  engage 
The  noble  Irish  girls  of  Back  Bay. 

*•*####•*# 

As  the  men  from  Erin's  land 
Hardest,  strenuous  tests  withstand, 

So  Irish  girls  command  the  highest  pay, 
They  with  female  tact  and  grace 
Fill,  to  please,  each  high-toned  place, 

Among  the  cultured  wealthy  of  Back  Bay. 

Since  I  left  old  Erin's  shore 
I  have  met  none  here-to-fore  — 
And  this,  I  in  sincerity  can  say, 

For  the  highest  meed  of  merit 
And  for  sterling  Christian  spirit 
To  excel  the  Irish  girls  of  Back  Bay. 


THE    SECOND    BRITISH    INVASION 
OF   CONCORD 

OR 

The  March  of  the  A.  P.  A.  Brigade 
MM* 

TWENTY  miles,  twenty  miles,  twenty  miles  on- 
ward ! 

Out   on  the    Fitchburg   train,   rolled   the    "twelve 
hundred." 

Loud  cried  the  great  Dunbar, 

As  he  stepped  from  the  car ; 

Tention  the  bold  brigade  ! 

Is  there  a  man  afraid  ? 

In  through  old  Concord  town, 

With  firm  step  and  haughty  frown  ; 

Loyal  to  queen  and  crown 

Marched  the  "  twelve  hundred  ! "  * 

We  are  told  that  in  days  of  yore, 
Concord  was  claimed  before, 

By  an  army  of  British  —  some  seven  or  eight  hua- 
dred  ; 

Who  with  guns  and  leaden  shot, 
Made  things  rather  hot  ; 

*  Be  actual  count  335  individuals  took  part  in  the  second  British 
invasion  of  Concord.  But  the  "  truthful  "  stark  of  the  press  com- 
mittee multiplied  the  number  to  "  twelve  hundred." 

164 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  165 

But  more  than  they  gave,  they  got  - 
—  Got  the  eight  hundred  ! 

Minute-men  right  of  them,  minute-men  left  of  them, 
Minute-men  front  of  them,  sprung  on  them  unnum- 
bered ! 

They  ran  back  as  best  they  could, 
Through  brake  and  tangled  wood  ; 
Back  through  fair  Lexington, 
Back  down  to  Charlestown, 
They  straggled  back  one  by  one  ; 
Back  throngh  that  valley  of  death, 
With  nothing  left,  but  their  breath  ; 
The  Britishers  got  back  —  but  not  the  eight  hundred ! 

This  new  British  A. P.  A. ; 

Resolved  to  avenge  the  day, 

When  their  "  bloomin  dads  "  ran  away, 

Scattered  and  sundered  ! 
Their  leader  the  great  Dunbar 
Sent  command  near  and  far  ; 
Let  nothing  your  ardor  mar  ! 
Fill  ye  each  railroad  car  ! 

Fully  "twelve  hundred  !  " 

Grand  were  the  plans  he  laid  ! 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed? 
Double  quick  march  !  he  said  — 
While  Concordians  wondered  ? 
"  March  on  the  double  quick  ; 
Shoot  down  each  Pat  and  Mick  ; 
It  may,  once  more,  raise  old  nick  — 
Onward  "  twelve  hundred  !  " 


166  SONGS    AND    POEMS 

Boys  to  the  right  of  them,  boys  and  girls  left  of  them, 
Farmers  each  side  of  them  all  of  whom  wondered  — 

Wondered  what  was  their  game, 

Who  they  were  —  whence  they  came, 

Wondered  at  great  Dunbar, 

Who,  since  he  left  the  car, 

Strode  like  a  shooting  star, 

With  nothing  his  march  to  mar, 
Leading  "twelve  hundred  !  " 

Flashed  they  their  pistols  out, 
Flashed,  as  they  wheeled  about ; 
Oh  !  how  the  boys  did  shout,  as  pistol  shots  thun- 
dered ; 

Just  then  the  truthful  stark, 
Took  snapshots  in  the  dark ; 
In  the  journal  he  made  his  mark 

With  pictures  encumbered  ! 
Showed  the  bold  march  they  made 
How  they  marched  back  unscathed, 
With  trophies  of  their  grand  raid 

Gallant  "  twelve  hundred  !  " 

Who  shall  their  glory  tell  ? 
Men  who  had  marched  so  well ! 
Back  they  went  all  pell  mell  — 
Back  from  old  Concord  town, 
Back  with  regained  renown, 
Back  on  the  Fitchburg  train, 
Each  to  his  home  again, 
Without  e'en  a  scratch  or  pain 
All  the  "  twelve  hundred  !  " 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  1«7 

Who'll  praise  the  great  Dunbar, 
The  A. P. A.  shooting  star, 
Sound  his  praise  near  and  far 
He  led  the  "  twelve  hundred  !  " 


THE   LION  AND  THE   BOER 


AIR  :     THE  PEELER  AND  THE  GOAT. 

THE  British  lion  red  with  gore, 
From  many  a  raid  of  plundering, 
Ran  up  against  a  sturdy  Boer, 

Whose  daring  set  him  wondering. 
He'd  met  such  animals  before, 

They  used  to  be  afraid  of  him, 
So  he  'gan  to  berate  the  Boer, 

And  this  is  what  he  said  to  him  : 

L  ion. 

"  My  queen  has  sent  me  here,  you  know, 

To  claim  her  suzerainty, 
Give  in,  or  I  will  strike  a  blow, 

That  soon  will  cure  your  vanity, 
Joe  Chamberlain  and  Salisbury, 

Have  told  me  to  disarm  you,  sir, 
And  if  to  this  you  don't  agree, 

I'll  be  obliged  to  harm  you,  sir. 

Boer. 

You  need  not  fret,  nor  fume,  nor  roar, 
Nor  shake  your  mane  so  gory,  sir, 

You  had  a  scrap  with  me  before, 

That  brought  you  little  glory,  sir, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  169 

The  Lord  is  just,  I  trust  in  Him, 

He  knows  my  cause  is  pure  and  sound, 

I'll  crush  and  tear  you  limb  from  limb, 
If  you  come  on  my  hunting  ground. 

Lion. 

Just  come  to  terms,  sir,  right  away, 

I've  told  my  queen  Victoria 
That  I  will  dine  on  Christmas  Day 

Despite  you,  in  Pre-to-ria. 
From  every  land  beyond  the  sea, 

My  troops  will  come  if  you  resist, 
E'en  Yankees  sympathize  with  me, 

Those  who  have  turned  Imperialist. 

Boer. 

I  know  your  purpose,  sir,  full  well, 

So  you  do  not  alarm  me, 
Like  Erin  you'd  make  this  a  hell, 

Could  you  but  once  disarm  me. 
I've  gold  and  diamonds  here  galore, 

You'd  like  for  your  nobility, 
But  mark  this  one  word  from  the  Boer, 

You  have  not  the  ability. 

Lion. 

You  tried  to  have  me  arbitrate, 

At  one  time  I  agreed  to  it, 
But  you're  so  small  and  I'm  so  great, 

I  won't,  there  is  no  need  of  it. 
The  Orange  Free  States  too  must  come, 

And  yield  to  me1  instanter,  sir, 


170  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Or  else  I'll  try  (you  know)  dum  dum, 
And  whip  you  in  a  canter,  sir. 

Boer. 

Your  threats  and  warnings  I  despise, 

They  serve  but  to  enlighten  me, 
You  think  because  I'm  not  your  size, 

By  bluffing  you  can  frighten  me, 
Before  my  rights  you  take  away, 

To  plume  your  pride  and  vanity, 
"  The  enormous  price  you'll  have  to  pay. 

Will  stagger  all  humanity  !  " 

The  Boer  then  turned  him  round  about, 

And  issued  a  most  earnest  call, 
When  all  the  Boers  came  trooping  out, 

A  mauser  clutched  by  large  and  small, 
They  handled  them  them  with  so  much  skill, 

So  accurate  and  limberly, 
They  cooped  up  all  they  didn't  kill, 

In  Ladysmith  and  Kimberly. 

So,  with  his  tail  between  his  thighs, 

The  lion  wines  that  used  to  roar, 
While  all  the  world  with  laughing  eyes, 

Enjoy  his  torture  more  and  more. 
And  now  to  end  this  rustic  song 

Let's  ask  the  Lord  by  night  and  day, 
That  he  may  aid  the  right  'gainst  wrong, 

As  he  did  in  America. 


OUTING   SONG  —  THE   SUBURB 
TROLLEY   RIDE 


Dedicated  to  Gen.  William  A.  Bancroft,  President  of  the  best 
managed  street  car  system  in  the  world,  situated  in  the  best  city 
and  the  most  beautiful  city  suburbs  under  the  sun. 

IN  Autumn,  Spring  or  Summer 
If  you  feel  a  little  blue, 
Don't  be  a  chronic  grum'ler 

I'll  just  tell  you  what  to  do  — 
Go  spruce  up,  nice  and  decent 

Get  your  comrade  by  your  side, 
What  is  there  half  so  pleasant, 
As  a  suburb  trolly  ride. 

CHORUS. 

Melancholy, 
Is  a  folly  ; 
Drive  it  far  away 
To  be  jolly 
On  the  trolly 
Take  a  ride  to-day. 

The  suburbs  around  Boston  — 

All,  our  visitors  declare, 
That,  eyes  were  never  cast  on, 

Any  other  —  half  as  fair  ; 
Take  any  spoke  you  will  upon 

The  Hub's  wide  fanlike  wheel  ; 


172  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

Ere  you  have  half  your  journey  gone 
You're  sure  to  happy  feel ! 

Chorus. 

When  any  streak  of  trouble  comes 

Not  caused  by  your  neglect, 
(It's  often  in  the  richest  homes, 

It  knows  no  self-respect) 
Do  not  give  way  to  sorrow 

From  your  friends  your  trouble  hide, 
Don't  wait  until  to-morrow 

Go  and  take  a  trolly  ride. 

Chorus. 

Our  trolly  cars  are  always  kept 

In  order  and  repair ; 
Deodorised,  brushed  clean  and  swept, 

No  microbe  lodges  there  ; 
The  men  selected  with  much  care 

Are  courteous,  calm  and  kind ; 
The  instances  are  very  rare 

Of  cause  for  fault  to  find. 

Chortis. 

No  roystering  or  drunkenness 

Is  on  the  cars  allowed  ; 
But  there  is  welcome  none  the  less, 

For  any  pleasant  crowd  ; 
Cars  are  the  people's  coaches 

For  the  people  here  they've  run  ; 
On  whose  rights  naught  encroaches 

Out  for  business,  health,  or  fun. 

Chorus. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  17:: 

We  envy  not  the  billionaire 

In  his  au-tom-o-bile, 
His  wealth  is  but  a  load  of  care 

He  cannot  jolly  feel  — 
He's  always  in  a  hurry  — 

No  suburban  sights  can  see  — 
All  free  from  care  and  worry 

The  street  car  for  you  and  me. 

Chorus. 

All  privileged  to  live  in  this 

Old,  grand,  historic  town  ; 
Should  not  forget  what  place  it  is, 

How  wide  its  high  renown  : 
For  the  HUB  and  Elevated  - 

Ere  we  leave  this  car  to-day, 
Let  our  cheers  be  now  repeated, 

One,  two,  three,  Hip,  Hip,  Hurrah  !  !  ! 


SONG  —  TWENTY   YEARS  MORE 


To   my   wife,  on   the  Twentieth  Anniversary  of  our  marriage, 
Sept.  8,  1876. 

''T'lS  just  twenty  years  since  we  knelt  side  by  side, 
1      At  the  altar  that  evening  I  made  you  my  bride, 
That  union,  dear  Mary,  I  ne'er  did  deplore, 
And  I  trust  it  will  last,  love,  for  twenty  years  more  ; 
You  have  been  my  joy  and  my  comfort  in  life, 
Since  the  first  blessed  morning  I  called  you  my  wife 
I  have  loved  you  till  now,  but  henceforth  I'll  adore, 
And  feel  blessed  in  your  love,  dear,  for  twenty  years 
more. 

CHORUS. 

For  twenty  years  more,  for  twenty  years  more, 
I  have  loved  you  till  now,  but  henceforth  I'll  adore. 
I  care  not  for  wealth  while  I'm  left  you,  asthore, 
I'll  feel  blessed  in  your  love,  dear,  for  twenty  years 
more. 

Oh  !  well  I  remember  that  beautiful  night, 

'Twas  the  eighth  of  September,  the  moon  shone  out 

bright, 
But  your  eyes  mocked  its  brightness,  such  light  did 

they  pour, 
May  they   brighten  my  pathway  for  twenty  years 

more. 
When  our  dear  ones  were  called  to  their  home  in  the 

skies, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  175 

The  dark  cloud  of  sorrow  brought  tears  from  those 

eyes, 

But  the  sunshine  of  love  will  soon  heal  up  the  sore, 
May  we  feel  its  influence  for  twenty  years  more. 

Chorus. 

I  wed  you  a  child,  scarcely  yet  seventeen, 
And  I  but  a  boy,  from  the  old  land  quite  green, 
But  we  launched  our  boat  bravely  and  pulled  from 

the  shore, 
And  have  strength  left  to  paddle  her  twenty  years 

more; 

I  have  oft  been  afraid  that  our  boat  would  capsize, 
For  dark  murky  clouds  sometimes  darkened  our  skies, 
But  your  confiding  glance  would  my  courage  restore, 
May  it  strengthen  and   bless  me  for  twenty  years 

more. 

Chorus. 

And  now  standing  here,  love,  again  on  this  night, 
Our  hearts  and  our  hands  let's  again  reunite, 
Let's  renew  the  vows  here,  love,  we  once  made  before, 
To  be  closer  united  for  twenty  years  more  ; 
You  are  now  thirty-seven,  and  not  seventeen, 
And  I'm  not  so  boyish  nor  awkwardly  green, 
Let  experience  teach  us  to  steer  near  the  shore, 
And  keep  clear  of  the  breakers  for  twenty  years  more. 

Chorus. 

How  soon  from  this  life  we'll  be  summoned  away, 
We  know  not,  dear  Mary,  the  hour  nor  the  day, 
But  our  children  to  guard  and  their  lives  to  watch 

o'er, 
I  trust  we'll  be  spared  yet  for  twenty  years  more ; 


176  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

But  no  matter  how  long  or  how  short  we  may  stay, 
Or  how  soon,  or  how  sudden  we  are  summoned  away, 
Our  united  hearts  to  their  innermost  core, 
Feel  grateful  and  thankful  now  and  evermore. 

Chorus. 


THE   FRANKLIN   COLLINS' 
INSTITUTE 

ALIAS 

Collins'  Hall 
MM* 

THE  monument  fund  finished 
Send  forth  now,  another  call, 
Away  out  to  Greater  Boston 

For  a  big  memorial  hall, 
Yes,  to  all  old  Massachusetts, 

To  New  England  and  New  York, 
To  the  whole  United  States  where  people 

Prize  Pat  Collins'  work. 
Build  a  hall  where  all  the  toilers 

Can  hold  meetings  and  debate, 
Ways  and  means  to  thwart  the  spoilers, 

That  infest  us  here  of  late  ; 
This  would  fill  a  want  long  needed, 

It  would  honor  him,  serve  all, 
What  to  youth  —  be  so  inspiring 

As  a  noble  Collins  Hall  ? 

Let  subscriptions  be  a  dollar, 

Nothing  more,  but  less  invite, 
Don't  refuse  the  newsboys  nickel, 

Don't  refuse  the  widow's  mite  ; 
This  would  be  fair  freedom's  temple, 

Built  to  honor  Collins'  name, 


178  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

And  to  serve  the  common  people 

Whom  he  loved  —  from  whom  he  came 
Soon  two  hundred  thousand  dollars 

Would  flow  in  from  every  side ; 
This  would  build  a  noble  structure, 

To  the  Hub  'twould  be  a  pride, 
Let  some  good  man  hold  the  treasure, 

Let  the  press  ring  out  the  call, 
It  will  yield  the  masses  pleasure 

To  erect  a  Collins'  Hall. 

Or,  perhaps  what  would  be  better  — 

'Stead  of  Andrew  Carnegie, 
Patrick  Collins  with  Ben  Franklin 

In  one  institute  should  be 
These  men  lived  for  other  people, 

Neither  lived  alone  for  self, 
Neither  gave  their  minds  devising 

Schemes,  for  aggregating  pelf. 
Andrew  Carnegie  between  them 

Would  be  sadly  out  of  place, 
His  donation  (badly  tainted) 

Would  but  smirch  it  with  disgrace. 
Patrick  Collins  saved  the  Franklin  Fund, 

Upon  the  people  call, 
They  should  build,  not  Carnegie, 

The  Franklin-Collins  Hall. 


A   CRIPPLE,   A  TOP,   AND    A   COP 


A  CRIPPLE  was  showing  a  top 
When  a  blue-coated,  brass-buttoned  cop, 
Came  walking  along, 
Square  of  figure  and  strong, 
And  ordered  the  business  to  stop. 

The  cripple  bowed  to  the  advice 
And  closed  up  his  traps  in  a  trice  ; 

The  Cop  looked  ashamed 

And  he  shouldn't  be  blamed, 
He  no  doubt,  felt  it  didn't  look  nice. 

His  order  he  had  to  obey, 

But  before  the  small  crowd  turned  away, 
A  big  man  in  the  crowd 
Spoke,  or  murmured  out  loud  ; 

We  will  clean  out  Judge  Emmons  some  day  ! 

This  cripple  commiting  no  crime, 
Was  trying  to  earn  a  dime, 

But  Judge  Emmons  of  course 

Must  discipline  his  force 
A  cripple  is  caught  every  time. 

Such  picayune  orders  as  these, 
The  Judge's  queer  antics  to  please, 

Put  on  but  for  show 

'Gainst  the  weak  and  the  low, 
Make  criminals  laugh  in  their  sleeves. 


DISTRICT   ATTORNEY  JOHN   B. 
MORAN   MAKING   GOOD 

am* 

Respects   to   Mayor    Fitzgerald  and  Governor  Guild.     Written 
New  Year's  Day,  1906. 

WE  have  a  little  giant  here,  he's  named  John  B. 
Moran, 
Old  politicians  laughed  when  he,  his  campaign  first 

began, 

But  John  kept  on  a  talking,  telling  people  of  his  plan, 
And  he  carried  almost  every  ward  in  Boston. 

He  said  in  every  speech  he  made,  he  would  enforce 

the  laws, 
That  there  would  be  no  favorites,  nor  creeping  out 

through  flaws, 
He  said  the  police  board  did  not,  uphold  the  people's 

cause, 
That  the  crooks  were  far  the  safest  men  in  Boston. 

He  tackled  first,  five  big  hotels,  as  he  declared  he 

would, 
Not  through  pique  or  grudge  but  as  the  law  demands 

he  should, 
The  police  board  are  laughed  at  while  John  B.  is 

making  good, 
They  have  brought  contempt  for  law,  all  over  Boston. 

Another   thing    was    promised,    by   Attorney   John 

Moran, 
He  said  he'd  clean  the  city  out  —  he'll  clean  it  if  he 

can. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  181 

By  this  time  all  know  John  B.  is  a  most  detemined 

man, 
Law  breakers  will  soon  bid  Good-bye  to  Boston. 

Judge  Emmons,  Carrie  Nation-like,  went  lecturing  to 

schools, 
Showing  boys,  how  best  to  operate,  with  burglar's 

latest  tools, 
The  boys  were  interested  with  some  grown-up  fadist 

fools, 
While  the  burglars  had  a  cinch,  all  over  Boston. 

He  hadn't  time  from  lecturing,  left  to  investigate, 
The  criminal    abortionists  that   shame  the  old    Bay 

State, 

And  stop  the  awful  happenings  occurring  here  of  late, 
Abhorent  to  the  decent  folk  of  Boston. 

John  B.  has  quickly  shown  us,  an  old  lady  and  two 

boys, 
Who  constitute  the  police  board  are  of  much  crime, 

the  cause, 
By  giving  all  inclined  that  way,  contempt  for  statute 

laws, 
They  should  get  a  long  vacation  out  of  Boston. 

And  soon  with  John  Fitzgerald  sitting  in  the  Mayor's 

chair, 
There  will  be  lots  of  music  floating  on  the  ambient 

air, 

John  F.  and  John  B.  soon  will  be  a  mighty  busy  pair, 
To  make  a  cleaner,  "  better,  busier  Boston." 

It  seems  quite  providential  that  both  Johns  should 

come  together 
And  each  may  thank  himself  for  his  election  and  no 

other, 


182  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

So  each  is  apt  to  have  his  way  'gainst  any  amount  of 

bother 
And  there  will  be  mighty  stirring  times  in  Boston. 

Another  sign  of   progress  —  up  beneath  the  gilded 

dome, 
A  big  broad-minded   Governor  will  feel  himself  at 

home, 
He'll  veto  no  progressive  laws  that  may  before  him 

come 
And   he'll   help   repeal    the   crank    laws,    crowding 

Boston. 

And  now  I'll  end  this  little  rhyme  with  hearty  honest 

cheer, 
By  wishing  these  three  shining  lights  a  happy  bright 

New  Year, 
May   all    their   acts    be   honest,    open,    manly   and 

sincere, 
For  all  old  Massachusetts,  and  for  Boston. 


THE   DUTCHMAN'S  COMPLAINT 


Written  during  the  panic  in  the  winter  of  '75. 

SAY  were  vos  all  te  pishness  gone 
Does  anybody  know  ? 
'Tvos  only  shust  some  doo  dree  years 

Since  it  vos  not  pe  so  ; 
Dos  times  vos  goot,  dat  schrip  dit  vly, 

I  sold  goot  lager  bier 
Und  all  ter  volks  vot  come  to  dhrink 

Vos  alvays  mit  goot  sheer. 
But  now  ven  von  dos  seldom  call 

His  vace  looks  long  and  dim, 
'Tvos  easy  known  he  vos  not  got 

Dot  lager  beer  mid-din  ; 
Und,  vin  he  takes  von  glass  alone 

He  shust  goes  right  avay 
Und  maybe  no  more  customers 

Vill  come  again  dot  day  ; 
So  vere  vos  all  de  peeshness  gone 

I'm  sure  I  do  not  know, 
I  ask  you  once  agan  mine  friends 

Vere  dit  te  peeshness  go  ? 

Vere  vosh  all  der  labor  gone, 

Dat  vos  zo  blenty  round  ? 
Vrom  carpenter  or  mason  now, 

You  do  not  hear  a  zound  ; 


184  SONGS   A_ND    POEMS 

Dot  machine  shop  is  silent,  und 

Dot  vacthory  is  shtill, 
Und  not  a  job  of  vork,  men  vind 

Go  dravel  vere  de  vill. 
They  look  vor  vork,  dey  search  vor  vork, 

The  men  are  not  to  blame  ; 
Vor  everyvere  dey  thramp  und  go 

De  shtory  is  de  zame. 
Und  oft  dey  hear  an  upshtart  schamp 

Durn  up  his  nose  und  say  ; 
Your  nudding  but  a  dirty  thramp, 

Get  up  und  go  avay  ! 
They  thramp  und  thramp  but  nudding  vind 

To  ease  their  grief  und  vo, 
I  ask  you  once  again  my  vriends, 

Vere  did  de  labor  go  ? 

Say  vere  vos  all  ter  monish  gone 

Can  anybody  tell  ? 
Te  say  it  never  goes  to  Heaven, 

It  musht  ave  gone  to  Hell  ! 
But  if  it  has  not  gone  so  var, 

It  mounts  to  shust  ter  zame 
Ter  working  beeple  havn't  got 

A  tollar  to  der  name  ! 
Un  ven  von  vorks  a  leetle  vile 

Vor  somepody  he'll  say  ; 
Shust  make  a  sharge  of  dot, 

As  yet  I  havn't  got  my  pay  ; 
Und  den  he  lights  his  pipe  und  goes, 

I  look  up  at  de  shlate  ; 
I  shake  my  head  to  dink  how  long 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  185 

Vor  dot  I'll  have  to  vait  ; 
So  vere  vosh  all  ter  monish  gone 

I'm  shure  I  do  not  know  ; 
If  it  has  not  gone  shtrait  to  hell 

Vere  in  hell  did  it  go  ? 

I  dell  you  vot  it  is  mine  vriends, 

I  may  perhaps  pe  wrong  ; 
I  dink  dese  office  holders  hold 

Der  offices  doo  long  ! 
At  first  when  de  get  into  blace 

To  do  things  clean  and  nice, 
Und  afther  dat  a  leetle  vile 

Te  learn  to  dake  a  shlise  ; 
Und  den  by  usage  te  grow  bold 

Und  do  not  care  a  tarn  ; 
Dhey  dake  too  dollars  vor  demselves, 

Und  von  vor  Uncle  Sam, 
Und  den  de  schweeze  de  daxes  on 

Vot  beeple  eat  and  vair  ; 
Tey'd  dax  te  zunlight  if  de  could 

Und  dax  ter  very  air  ! 
Zo  now  mine  vriends  I  dink  I  show'd  you 

Clearly  in  my  zong, 
How  peeshness,  labor,  monish,  all 

Has  gone  zo  develish  wrong  ! 


THE   WRONG   WAY 

MM* 

OF  others'  interest  to  take  no  heed, 
Of  distrust  and  discord  to  sow  the  seed, 
To  set  the  example  of  selfish  greed, 

To  stimulate  vexation. 
To  scatter  falsehood  far  and  wide, 
To  foster  upstart,  sickening  pride, 
To  meanly  suspect  e'en  the  true  and  tried  — 
This  is  demoralization. 

To  scatter  tares,  where  we  grain  would  gather, 
To  rebuke,  to  insult,  to  revile  each  other, 
To    all  a  man  fool,  instead  of  brother, 

To  practice  equivocation  ; 
To  point  out  every  defect  and  flaw, 
To  say  we've  seen  faults  that  we  never  saw 
To  scoff  at  charity's  heavenly  law  — 

This  is  aggravation. 

THE   RIGHT  WAY 

TO  bid  all  jealousies  begone, 
To  make  the  many  acts  as  one, 
Centering  all  their  power  upon 

Mutual  elevation  ; 
All  grudging  rivalries  to  hide, 
Narrow  selfrseeking  to  cast  aside, 


SONGS   AND   POEMS  187 

All  in  each  to  firmly  confide  — 
This  is  organization. 

To  meet  like  brothers,  early  and  late, 

To  join  in  friendly  calm  debate, 

To  give  to  the  truth  its  proper  weight, 

E'en  against  one's  inclination  ; 
To  search  for  the  truth  as  we  trudge  along, 
To  enlighten  the  mind  and  to  make  it  strong, 
To  learn  to  decide  between  right  and  wrong  — 

This  is  education. 

When  doubts  and  differences  arise, 
To  choose  out  men  discreet  and  wise, 
Who  together  will  calmly  sit  and  advise 

On  the  cause  of  irritation  ; 
To  do  as  by  others  they'd  be  done  by, 
To  straighten  each  kink  that  may  seem  awry, 
To  satisfy  all  to  faithfully  try  - 

This  is  our  arbitration. 

To  encourage  the  shiftless,  the  lowly  the  poor, 
To  lighten  the  load  they  are  forced  to  endure, 
To  find  out  the  cause,  to  apply  the  cure, 

To  remove  each  aggravation  ; 
To  lift  (when  we  can)  the  crushing  weight 
That  carries  them  down  to  a  sullen  fate, 
To  learn  them  to  tread  erect  and  elate  — 

Is  the  sum  of  our  expectation. 


LINES  TO  THE    MEMORY  OF 

REV.   FATHER   THOMAS   SCULLY 

I,ate  Beloved  Pastor  of   St.  Mary's,  Cambridge,  Mass. 
MM* 

YES,  build  him  a  monument,  stone  upon  stone, 
To  commemorate  the  bright  virtues  of  him 
Who,  'though  from  our  midst  he  forever  has  flown, 
His  life-work  amongst  us  shall  never  grow  dim, 
All  things  to  all  men  like  another  Saint  Paul 

To  draw  them  to  God  and  to  wean  them  from  sin, 
His  heart  was  a  furnace  of  love  for  us  all, 
Regardless  of  creed,  or  the  color  of  skin. 

Build  him  a  monument,  'mongst  us  to-night, 

We  see  the  reflex  of  the  work  he  has  done 
For  temperance,  liberty,  justice  and  right, 

He  moulded  all  creeds  and  all  races  in  one. 
Though  Catholic,  through,  to  his  innermost  soul, 

His  zeal  and  his  charity  never  knew  bounds, 
Not  alone  to  his  flock  but  to  Cambridge  in  whole 

The  fruit  of  his  love  and  his  labor  redounds. 

A  Catholic  pastor  —  he  was  it  is  true 

A  warm  pro-tes-tant  against  flagrant  vice. 

He  was  not,  whenever  it  came  neath  his  view 
To  those  who  persisted,  at  all  over  nice, 

Here,  Protestants,  Catholics,  Jews,  Gentiles,  all 
Who  loved  Father  Scully,  take  deepest  delight, 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  1*9 

To  show  by  our  presence  in  this  crowded  hall, 

We  are  all  of  one  race  and  one  creed  for  to-night. 

Raise  him  a  monument  —  Cambridge  alone 

Does  not  circumscribe  all  the  good  he  has  done, 
Its  influence  reaches  a  far  wider  zone, 

Few  know  all  the  love  his  kind  nature  had  won. 
"A  lambkin  in  peace  a  real  lion  in  war" 

To  know  was  to  love  him,  to  meet  him  was  bliss 
May  he  reap  in  his  home  above  sun  moon  and  star 

Full  and  ample  reward  for  his  labor  in  this. 


LINES  TO  THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

FIGHTING  (IRISH)  NINTH 

MASSACHUSETTS 

MM* 

Read  at  the  Annual  Reunion  at  Nantasket  Point,  1905. 

WHEN   the  scourge  of  rebellion    afflicted  this 
land, 

The  Ninth  Massachusetts  for  Union  did  stand  ; 
Though  immigrants  lately  from  Ireland  flown, 
Their  national  valor  was  valiently  shown. 

All  through  that  fierce  conflict  of  —  South  against 

North, 

No  men,  to  the  front,  went  more  gallantly  forth  ; 
In  fore-front  of  battle  full  often  were  seen, 
The  red  white  and  blue,  and  the  old  flag  of  green. 

From  first  to  the  last  —  they  were  always  the  same  ; 
Adding  daily,  new  honors  to  Irishmen's  fame  ; 
'Till  victory,  union  and  liberty,  crowned, 
The  brave  Irish  Ninth  on  high  duty  was  found. 

May  all  old  survivors,  who  fought  hard  to  save 
The  Union,  —  receive  the  protection  they  gave  ; 
The  guerdeon  denied   them  they'll  get  —  with  due 

care, 
When  a  brave  soldier  fills  the  executive  chair. 


SONGS   AND    POEMS  191 

In  the  war  to  free  Cuba,  the  Ninth  once  again, 
Did  fully  its  historic  valor  maintain  : 
A  new  generation  of  sons  of  the  Gael 
Went  forward  the  proud  Spanish  foe  to  assail. 

This  war  un-provoked — was  soon  brought  to  an  end, 
So  bravely  the  Ninth  did  their  country  defend  ; 
True  sons  of  their  sires  —  for  freedom  and  right, 
They  bore  at  the  fore-front,  the  brunt  of  the  fight. 

Then,  lay  laurel  wreaths  on  the  tombs  of  the  brave, 
Who  to  their  loved  country  their  lives  freely  gave ; 
May  the  cause  they  upheld  stand  forever  the  same, 
Unsmirched  by  deception,  untarnished  by  shame. 


LINES    ON    THE   DEATH   OF   MY    DEAR   FRIEND,  THE 

FAITHFUL,  FEARLESS,  AND  EFFECTIVE 

LABOR  ADVOCATE 

JOHN   F.   O'SULLIVAN 

September  22,  1902. 


OUR  hearts  are  overwhelmed  with  grief  ; 
Unexpectedly  death  made  a  call, 
He  came  in  the  night  like  a  thief 
And  struck  down  the  favorite  of  all. 

In  O'  Sullivan  teeming  with  health, 
Death  saw  a  bright  mark  for  his  dart 

And  by  the  most  devious  stealth 
He  pierced  that  pure  lovable  heart. 

A  heart  that  beat  warm  for  mankind 
Regardless  of  race  or  of  creed  ; 

A  generous  hand  and  a  mind 
Of  all  taint  of  selfishness  freed. 

To  his  wife  and  his  children  God  send 
High  courage  his  absence  to  bear, 

As  husband  as  father  as  friend 

Not  many  with  Jack  could  compare. 

His  wife,  his  dear  comrade,  his  guide 
What  pen  could  paint  dimly  her  loss  ? 

May  Heaven  that  made  her  Jack's  bride 
Assist  her  to  carry  her  cross. 


BIG    CHICAGO 

MM* 

Written  on  board  the  car  Canandaigua,  on  our  return  from  the 
Chicago  Land  League  Convention  1881.  Dedicated  to  the  Hon. 
John  F.  Finerty  of  Chicago. 

THE  great  Convention  now  is  past, 
And  we  are  homeward  fast  returning 
No  glance  of  sorrow  need  we  cast 

At  aught,  from  meeting  till  adjourning 
Great  was  our  task  ;  'twas  grandly  done, 

Untouched  by  hand  of  vile  lago 
Unselfish  purpose  moved  each  one 
Who  met  at  gen'rous  big  Chicago. 

Confidingly  our  Motherland 

Might  look  across  the  mighty  ocean, 
And  firmly,  proudly  take  her  stand, 

Nor  heed  the  turmoil  and  commotion 
Imposed  on  her  by  England's  queen. 

(Towards  Ireland  an  old  virago  ;  ) 
Could  she  the  glorious  sight  have  seen 

That  just  transpired  in  big  Chicago. 

How  vain  the  prophecy  which  said 

The  strife  would  tear  our  ranks  asunder ; 

That  some  unsound,  ill-balanced  head 
Would  make  some  fatal  Irish  blunder, 

"  The  wish  was  father  to  the  thought " 
That  prophesied  such  cursed  embargo 


194  SONGS   AND    POEMS 

But  base  desires  came  to  naught 

Peace  reigned  supreme  in  big  Chicago. 

No  wonder  then  our  hearts  are  light ; 

Our  inmost  souls  with  rapture  swelling, 
Beneath  the  spreading,  searching  light 

Injustice  cannot  find  a  dwelling  ; 
Then  let  this  generous,  jovial  band, 

Who  travel  in  the  Canandaigua, 
Grasp  every  brother's  manly  hand 

And  toast,  God  bless  you,   big  Chicago. 

Chicago  —  what  a  wondrous  place  ! 

How  giant-like  the  strides  'tis  making 
And  strange  this  "  shiftless  Irish  race  " 

In  foremost  rank  its  place  is  taking 
Britania's  queen,  beneath  the  sun 

Through  all  her  realms  may  near  and  far  go, 
She  can't  point  out  a  spot,  not  one, 

That  can  compare  with  big  Chicago. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Adrift 3 

Written  April,  1901. 

How  Much  is  There  in  it  For  Me  ?  .         .  9 

Written  May,  1899. 

The  Trusts .         .         .         .         .         .         .  11 

Written  1900. 

The  Imperialists  Trample  on  the  Constitution      .         15 

Written  immediately  after  McKinley's  second  inaugu- 
ration. 

Paul  Revere's  Ride      .         .         ...         .         .         18 

Mountains  of  Wealth  vs.  Valleys  of  Want     .         .         21 

Watertown  Town  Hall 23 

Written  ten  years  after  leaving  Watertown. 

Sailing  Down  the  Harbor     .         ...         .         27 
One  Hundred  Years  Ago      .         .         .         .         .29 

Address  to  the  Charles  River        .         .  33 

Written  in  1878. 

The  Acquisition  of  Canada  ...  36 

Written  May  1905. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Reciprocity          ......  38 

Written  May  1904. 

New  Reciprocity  Song 4</ 

Written  1904. 

The  Night  Watch  of  Liberty  Bell         .         .  42 

Written  when  the  Bell  was  on  Boston  Common. 

The  People's  Campaign        .         ....         46 
Written  1903. 

Population  vs.  Self-Preservation  .         .         .         .         48 
Written  1905. 

An  Open  Epistle  to  Hon.  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  50 

Written  1905. 

Whitelaw  Reid's  Coronation  Breeches  .         .         53 

Written  immediately  after  King  Edward's  Coronation. 

Boston's  Welcome  to  Grand  Army  Veterans  .  55 
England's  Peace  Invasion  of  Boston  ...  57 
The  Home  Market  Club 59 

The  Trust-i-fied  Home  Market  Club     ...         62 
Written  1904. 

How  Best  to  Celebrate  the  Fourth        .         .         .         65 

The  Schemer's  Revolution 68 

Written  after  the  passage  of  the  Police  Registration 

law. 

• 

Gone  Money  Mad        .         .  .         .         .  70 

Since  We  Became  a  World  Power         ...  72 

Preserve  Old  Constitution 76 

Lines  to  the  Memory  of  Patrick  A.  Collins  .          .  81 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Welcome  to  Douglas  Hyde  .....         >*3 

Latest  Version  of  the  Shan  Van  Vocht ;  or,  Queen 

Victoria's  Recruiting  Trip  to  Ireland    .         .         XT 

Song  of  Welcome  to  Very  Rev.  Mons.  O'Callaghan,         91 

The  Old  Fenian's  Address  to  His  New  Repeating 

Rifle  94 

Hail  To  Thee,  Erin 98 

Emmett's  Grave  .  99 

There's  a  Bright  Gleam  of  Hope,  1905         .         .       103 

Answer  to  the  Harp  That  Once  Through  Tara's 

Hall 105 

Lines  to  the  Memory  of  George  Frisbie  Hoar  .       106 

Keep  Up  Erin's  Cause          .         .         .  .  .107 

Answer  to  the  Wearing  of  the  Green    .  .  .109 

My  Braedeen  Cotha  Mohr   .         .         .  .  .112 

Sligo  Town ;  or,  Knock-na-rae     .  .  .        116 

Dear  Erin .119 

God  Bless  the  Good  Old  Irish  Brogue .  .  .120 

Cead  Mille  Faulthia  Lath  Sogarth  Aroon  .  .       123 

The  Sons  of  the  Gael  .         .         .         .  .  .126 

From  Antrim  to  Cork  .         .         .  .128 

A  Patriotic  Appeal 

Irish  Expansion  .  •       132 

Michael  Davitt's  Soliloquy  in  Portland  Prison  .        134 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

William  Redmond's  Welcome       ....  137 

•  William  Redmond's  Welcome,  II.         .         .         .  140 

Mother  Erin 142 

Song  in  English  for  an  Irish  Ireland    .         .         .  144 

Song  of  the  Ancient  Order  of  Hibernians    .         .  146 

Song  of  the  Holy  Name 151 

Give  Me  O  Lord          , 153 

Resignation 155 

Written  in  1875  after   the   loss  of   all  my   business 
and  possessions  and  our  oldest  daughter's  death. 

Saint  Anthony's  Parish        .....  157 

A  Rhyming  Review  of  the  Challenge  Cup   .         .  159 
The  Irish  Servant  Girls  of  Back  Bay    .         .         .162 

The  Second  British  Invasion  of  Concord,  etc.      .  164 

The  Lion  and  the  Boer 168 

Outing  Song  —  The  Suburb  Trolley  Ride     .         .  171 

Song  —  Twenty  Years  More         ....  174 

The  Franklin  Collins  Institute  alias  Collins  Hall,  177 

A  Cripple,  a  Top  and  a  Cop         ....  179 

District  Attorney  John  B.  Moran  Making  Good  .  180 

The  Dutchman's  Complaint          ....  183 
The  Wrong  Way  —  The  Right  Way     .         .         .186 

Father  Scully 188 

The  Old  and  the  New  Fighting  Ninth  Regiment,  190 

Lines  to  the  Memory  of  John  F.  O'Sullivan          .  192 

The  Chicago  Convention 193 


THE  J.  K.  WATERS   COMPANY 

14-20  BEACH  STREET 

BOSTON 


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